


expiration date

by canticle, MusicalDefiance



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Amamiya Kurusu Siblings AU, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Female Kurusu Akira, Oral Sex, Poor Life Choices, dynamic tags, morally ambiguous - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2019-11-06 21:03:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 23,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17947079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canticle/pseuds/canticle, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MusicalDefiance/pseuds/MusicalDefiance
Summary: She's never been someone who can back down from a challenge. Neither is he. In a perfect world they're a match made in Heaven. In the real world they're a match made in Hell.





	1. fresh

**Author's Note:**

> First and foremost: don't like, don't read.
> 
> This is not a nice story. This is not a love story. This is a story about two hecked up teenagers using each other, and it doesn't turn out great for either of them. It's not going to be everyone's cup of tea, and that's okay.
> 
> Everything in this fic is consensual. Any additional content warnings will be placed at the beginnings of the relevant chapters. While this is a difficult story, it's one we care about a lot and have put a lot of thought into. We sincerely hope that if you do read it, you enjoy it, and put your trust in us with it. Thank you in advance for your support!
> 
> (an awful, awful Rage Daughter AU)

She fucking hates when he stares at him like this.

He's so obvious, so so _so_ _obvious_ in the way that he looks at Ren, eyeing him up and down, smiling and laughing that stupid fake polite laugh of his when Ren makes a crack that has her rolling her eyes. It's annoying more than anything, but just as equally frustrating, because Ren never minds it. He never seems to notice how _fake_ it is because he’s too nice, too oblivious. Too _Ren._

How he ever decided that Goro _fucking_ Akechi was someone he wanted to be friends with, Akira will never know.

Even as she watches, Ren slides his queen over a few spaces on the chessboard, waggling his eyes and making a comment she can't quite hear. Akechi tinkles that fake-ass laugh of his and tips his king over in response.

He's so fucking annoying. She wishes he'd stay out of her cafe. (Not hers, never hers, but god she's got little enough space to call home in Tokyo is it is without some asshole detective sniffing around.)

Akira scrubs her rag a little harder across the bar, wiping away the last of the spilled droplets of coffee and cream that Ren had spilled making Akechi's cup.

Awful. Why does he always have to do this? Why does he feel the need to keep reaching out? Doesn't he get that if Akechi figured them out they could _all_ get fucked over? Sitting there with his smarmy ass smile and his monogrammed briefcase and his stupid fucking gloves while anxiety churn in her gut like magma.

It's cold for early October. There's rain coming down hard outside. All she wants to do is get Ren away from that slimy son of a bitch by any means necessary.

Oh, they're finally done talking. Ren stands up, his blazer slung over his shoulder, tucking the pieces back into the board, and Akechi...

Akechi brings his cup to the bar and sets it in front or her. "Could I trouble you for a refill?" he asks, saccharine and fake.

She's about to say no, but Ren pipes up with a "Play nice, Aki," and a shit-eating grin. "Make the nice detective some coffee."

"Why don't you make him some coffee?" she complains, but he's already heading towards the door. "Oy! Ren!"

"Sorry gotta go work at the flower shop byyyeeeee~"

" _Ren—!_ " but it's too late. The bell on the door chimes cheerfully as it slams shut, leaving herself and her favorite person in the world behind. She groans, slapping her hand down on the counter and pushes her rag over to the side. Akechi greets her with a pristine smile, not a hint of realness lacing its existence.

God, lovely.

She huffs and crosses her arms. "I'm not making you a fresh cup." she says flatly. "There's still some in one of these pots warming, I don't wanna waste beans on a whole brew."

He shrugs, "Not a concern. I apologize for any trouble I'm causing you."

"Yeah I fucking bet..." she says under her breath, grabbing his cup with a forceful movement and pulling it back to get him his fucking refill. "Don't get too comfortable. With Ren gone you don't have as much reason to be here, and it wouldn't kill me to have some peace to do some homework."

He chuckles at that, his annoying stupid chuckle coming from his annoying stupid face that makes her want to grind it into the counter. "I'm surprised that you're willing to speak to a paying customer like that. Does Sakura-san allow such behavior?"

" _You_ ," she says, staring pointedly at him as she (under) fills his cup, "are not a customer. You're just some thorn that keeps showing up in my side and making my life harder."

"Am I now?" he says, and god fuck _ugh_ he's getting that stupid little intrigued face of his, hand under his chin and all. "Care to elaborate on that?" She always hates that fucking look in his eyes. That one that speaks some form of “I know something that you don’t but please enlighten me” even though he doesn’t know _shit_ about her.

She rolls her eyes, "Yeah sure." she says, placing his cup down and going right back to wiping the counter like she couldn't give any less of a shit about him. She can give him a reason. "You think you can get into my brother's pants and keep trying to. That makes my life harder."

There's something darkly thrilling in the tiny furrow that appears between his brows, like she's set him off balance _just enough_ for a crack to appear in that porcelain mask of his. "Excuse me?" he says, ever so evenly, shifting his weight on the barstool. "That's… quite an accusation you're making."

"Uh-huh. I have eyes, you know." Stubborn fucking dried-on spot. Why can't Ren clean up his own messes? Why's he gotta leave them for her to unhappily entertain? "You don't have to be a detective to figure out someone wants to bone someone else. And let me just tell you, even if I'd _let_ you, you'd be barking up the wrong fuckin' tree." The moon-eyes he makes at Yusuke sometimes makes her want to gag, in an overly obnoxious sibling sort of way.

He makes that face again, the stupid shitty one that makes it seem like he's got her figured out every six ways to Sunday. "Ah. I see. Are you your brother's keeper, then?" he asks, fake interest in every line of his body. "Tell me, does he have to ask you permission for everyone he chooses to date?"

"Not if I trust he person he's panting after," she says, squeezing the rag like a stress ball. Stupid smarmy fuck. "He's my only brother. I've got a vested interest in his well-being. And honestly? You look like you'd be a _bore_ in bed."

Now _that_ makes him frown. "I— what?"

"A bore," she repeats. The corner of his eye twitches, just a bit. He sets the coffee mug down on the counter a little harder than strictly necessary. "A _bottom_ , even. Someone who wants to act like he's got all the power, but would end up rolling over and giving into every stupid dumb thing Ren wanted to do in bed in like, three seconds. Ren deserves way, _way_ better than that."

Now she's got him. Fucking detective prince can't stand a smirch to his ego like that, apparently, because he pushes the mug a little farther away and leans in, an elbow on the counter. "And just what do you mean by that, Kurusu-san?" he asks, like he doesn't know exactly what she means. Ren deserves anyone who isn't _him_.

But he wants to push, huh? Lucky for him she's in the mood to push _back_.

Both her palms hit her side of the bar. "He deserves someone who's gonna give him the best fuckin' head of his life. That immediately excludes you."

The look he gives her is like the look a scientist would give a bug pinned to a corkboard, and she chafes against it, wants to throw her fist into his face and knock him backwards off that stupid barstool and see what happens next. Violate her parole. Go back to jail. But it'd be so fucking satisfying, soothing the deep dark snarl of anger and stress in her core. "And what," he says, finally with something of a bite in his voice, "makes you such an expert on how well I handle myself behind closed doors?"

"You have a _mullet_ ," Akira says with pointed venom. "There's no way you're not a virgin."

Ha! That shitty little smile drops off his face, just to take up residence on her own, like she's just won the fuckin' lottery.

It doesn't take him long to get back at her though, sharp and intent. "And I imagine you've got a wealth of experience under your belt?"

Call _her_ a slut, huh? She scoffs, about ready to toss the quarter-full coffee press in his face and tell him to leave. "I could give head better than you any day, Akechi- _kun_."

"And how do you suppose that?" he asks.

"Easy. Literally anyone not as uptight as you could do better."

He tilts back on the stool again, looking bizarrely satisfied. Akira grabs the rag in both hands and pulls it until the seams creak. "That's quite a bold assumption, Kurusu-san. Do you have any, ah, _evidence_ to back up your claims?" He smiles. "The detective in me is certainly curious."

Almost instantly, the tension in the air ratchets out about five thousand percent as Akira feels herself hurtling towards the edge of a cliff with a long, long drop. She's never had the greatest impulse control, never been able to control her temper; Ren's the sweet, even-tempered one between them, Ren's the charismatic fucker who could charm the pants off a duck in ten seconds flat. Akira doesn't have any of that. All she has is her anger.

And she makes really, really shitty decisions when she's angry. Her impulse control fails before she's even considered trying to reign it in.

"Go upstairs and I'll show you," she spits out, a challenge, a glove thrown down, a line drawn in the sand between them that can never be undrawn.

Akechi chokes and spits out a spray of coffee out his nose, eyes wide as saucers. He claps both gloved hands over his nose and mouth immediately after, clearly as horrified as Akira herself is, coffee splashed all over the varnished wood of the bar.

She could offer him the rag to wipe himself off with.

She doesn't.

He has to dab himself up carefully with his gloves, pulling a few paper napkins out of the nearest dispenser to blow his nose and wipe his face. He's clearly embarrassed as all hell about the display, and she should feel good about that, but instead she just feels… numb. "That certainly was not the response I expected from you," he says, a bit hoarsely.

She doesn't have anything to say to that. It wasn't what she expected either, but she said it and now she has to deal with it, whichever way this falls. Silently, she drops her rag over the bar. Just as silently, he takes it and wipes up his mess, staring off into the middle distance without meeting her eyes.

The air gets more tense and awkward by the second. The silence is deafening, leaving that awful snarl of anxiety inside her chest howling, her fingers flexing. What she wants to do with them she's not really sure. Punch him? That's definitely an option still on the table.

What the _fuck_ possessed her to say that?

His motions slow, then stop. He doesn't look up. She doesn't either, keeping tabs on him out of the corner of her eye.

Slowly, his head raises. Slowly, he puts his elbow back on the counter.

_Don't._

He opens his mouth. She wants to shove her entire fist in it, make him choke on her knuckles so whatever the fuck he's about to say can never be said, because then it can never be _un_ said.

She doesn't.

"Is that a challenge, then?" he asks.

She breathes in through her nose, out through her mouth. Once, twice, three times. "And if it is?" she says lowly, because she's fucking committed, she was committed the first time she opened her stupid fucking mouth around Goro _fucking_ Akechi.

His mouth twists, like he's trying to think through her statement, pick all the layered nuance out of four words, bleed it dry of all meaning, and _goddamn_ if he doesn't get whatever the fuck he's got going on in that stupid bulbous head of his out of his mouth in the next three seconds she's going to vault over the counter and choke him to death with his own godforsaken tie.

His eyes are dark and inscrutable when he meets hers, something that makes her want to peel her own skin off and blind him with it so he can never look at her again. She wants to scream loud enough to drown out his words, his voice, his face. She wants to die right here and now so they can't finish whatever this trainwreck is barreling inevitably down the tracks towards.

He says, quietly, barely audible, "I'd be interested to see how this would play out."

 _God fucking damnit_.

Her nails dig into her palms, blunt bright pain-pressure in ten separate pinpricks. Asked and answered. She made the challenge and he answered and if she doesn't follow through she might as well just go drown herself in the Tokyo Bay, because that'd be kinder than whatever she'd see on his face if she tried to back out now.

She blows air out through her nose, furiously, and reaches behind herself to untie her Leblanc apron with shaking fingers. This is how she gets into all her trouble, saying dumb shit and then refusing to back down, and you think someday she'd learn but _apparently fucking not!_

She can't meet his eyes as she jerks her head towards the stairwell. "Go. Before I take the offer back."

Akechi just sort of blinks at her. Is he fucking _deaf?_ Did he not hear her?

She almost didn't hear herself, honestly, half out of her own head with the sound of her own blood rushing through her ears, breath tight and fast. It's like an out of body experience, watching herself literally challenge Goro _fucking_ Akechi to _suck his fucking dick._

The sound of the barstool scraping across the floor drags her back into herself kicking and screaming. Everything becomes way too real; she's hypersensitive of the way the ceiling fan stirs the air, the way goose pimples have spread up both of her arms and the back of her neck, the way the back of Goro fucking Akechi's is flushed a pale pink. Even as he stands she crosses the floor in quick, deliberate motions. Boss is gone for at least another hour. The old couple have been and gone already. Nobody's gonna be coming back except Ren.

The thought of Ren makes something curdle sour and vicious in her gut.

Climbing the stairs feels like it takes every little piece of effort she has. She feels heavier with each step, like her body is trying to reject even the idea of her heading upstairs to meet him. She could back out too, maybe. She could just leave and go see Ann or Futaba and laugh together about how Akechi's just sitting there, waiting for something to happen.

Ren will be home later though, right? Would Akechi still be there, waiting and at the opportunity offering himself like a gourmet sushi platter?

Not a chance is she letting that happen. She climbs the stairs faster.

When she reaches the top he's just... standing there in the middle of the room. His arms are crossed and his face is flushed, turned away from her and looking at the wall; he's always looked out of place in here, of course, but never so blatantly. He looks uneasy, which _wow_ same hat buddy, as he just stares with a look on his face like he's trying to find a good enough reason to talk himself out of this.

It's probably the first time she'll ever find herself relating to Goro Akechi, and hopefully the last. Gross.

If she's going to do this… she breathes in through her nose and out through her mouth, loud and harsh. "Well? Sit down."

He stares at her like she's a bug, a worm in the dirt in front of her, and she lifts her lip in a snarl right back. "We're not doing it with you standing in front of the window. Sit. Down. No—" not on the couch, the couch is the first thing anyone who came upstairs would see— "over there. The bed."

Not her bed, either. Ren's. Oh, god, she's so sorry for what she's about to do on his bed, but if she did it on hers she'd have to burn it to the ground.

His movements are slow, so slow and awkward as he sets his briefcase down with a too-loud thud. Everything is too loud; his breathing, hers, the way the leather of his gloves creaks as he sits down and fists his hands in the fabric of his trousers.

Breathe in. Breathe out. It'll be okay.

She crosses the room and drops to her knees in front of him before she can talk herself out of it.

God what the fuck is she doing, what the _fuck_ is she _doing—_ being here, beneath Goro _fucking_ Akechi?!

At least he looks as uncomfortable as she feels, if his face tells her anything. His lips are pulled into a thin line, cheeks flushed, and he grips onto his slacks while looking anywhere but at her. She doesn’t know if she could handle it, if he was staring her down like this.

She's never done this. Can she do this? It's just... a dick, right? You put it in your mouth and just do shit with your tongue and suck on it, right? She’s seen porn before. It’s all _auuuh_ and lewd faces and saliva everywhere. If she’s doing this, she’s going to do it with a fuckload more dignity than _that._

But step one has to come first before that happens— pants off. She places a hand against his knee, like she's bracing herself, eyes sliding over to his zipper like it's some sort of wild animal she has to make sure doesn't jump out at her.

He— it's tented... He's already hard? If she wasn’t so fucking nervous she’d rip him a whole new asshole over that, _so sensitive that a girl barely touches you and you’re already hard as a rock, Akechi, and you were gonna try and tell me you_ **_weren’t_ ** _a virgin?_

Breathe in. Breathe out. Nothing wrong here.

"How long are you planning on dragging this out, Kurusu?" he asks. Even beneath his disgusting saccharine tone she can hear he's just as nervous. It should make her feel better. It does, a little, but mostly it makes her feel queasy. "You were the one who said we don't have all day."

"Shut up," she snaps, the burst of anger giving her just enough impetus to reach forward and unbuckle his belt, letting the ends flop to either side of him like a dead snake. "And take your fucking blazer off, I'm not getting my hair caught in your stupid buttons."

He sneers back down at her, a display of dominance that just makes her wrinkle her nose, and puts his gloved fingers to his buttons, one by one. God, can he go any _fucking_ slower? She watches for no other reason than to hopefully get him to hurry the fuck up, but all it earns is another dirty look and an irritated, "Are you entertained, Kurusu? Should I slow down for you?"

She's going to Kill him. Or herself. Preferably both.

When he's done she doesn't have any more excuses. His fingers slipped on the last few buttons; his hands tremble a bit where they’re fisted in Ren's bedspread. A match to her own, yanking his zipper down and pulling him out before she can chicken out.

It's… she didn't know what she expected.  It's hot. Not sweaty, thank fucking god; he smells like body wash and clean skin, and feels… soft.

Above her, Akechi makes a stifled noise, but when she looks up his face is turned away.

"...huh." she says quietly. She's only just now realizing she's never been placed in front of a living breathing dick before, and definitely has never even _thought_ to imagine anything about the one that belongs to Goro fucking Akechi. But it's just... normal. Not gross and deformed and horrifying, just normal.

And it's getting more stiff in her light grip the longer she holds it. Warmer second after second. Firm, like silk over… wood.

"...is something the matter?" he asks after what seems like a monumental pause. It's so quiet in this room right now. As much as she hates when he opens his fucking mouth, the silence is deafening, and anything to break it is welcome.

She wishes she could take that thought back a second later, though, when his face creases, voice wrinkling in a sneer. "You're more than welcome to back down if you're uncomfortable, Kurusu." She looks up at him to see him smirking down at her all haughtily like an asshole. "I have no intention to force myself onto you."

She snorts and rolls her eyes, "Like you could ever force me to do _anything_."

He shrugs, "Your call."

God what a cocky fuck. She's going to kick his ass before they get anywhere with this.

She tilts it upwards, squinting like a jeweler eyeing over a particularly interesting rock. And it is kinda fascinating, ignoring the fact that it belongs to Akechi. There's all sorts of little veins and wrinkles that she brushes across with the pad of her free thumb. The skin is slack enough still that it moves with her touch, and the slit at the head moves sorta like a fish mouth when she prods at it. Open, shut. Open, shut.

Heheh.

If only Akechi's mouth was this easy to close.

As much as she wants to keep dawdling, just to keep that irritated tone in his voice, they have a time limit. There's no telling when Ren will be back, and absolutely no way she'll let herself be caught giving Goro _fucking_ Akechi head.

Before she can talk herself out of it, she leans in and licks it.

...tastes like skin. Thank fucking god, it's just like licking an arm. If an arm was dick-sized and dick-shaped.

Above her there's a soft, muffled noise; in her hand he twitches, throbbing hard enough that she can feel the blood rushing around below the skin. God. So fucking _weird_.

When she lets him go, just to see, he stands fully upright on his own. So _weird_. He makes another noise when she leans in and grabs him again; she peeks up to see his face scarlet, his hand over his mouth, a small bead of liquid pearling up at the tip of his cock.

"Well?" he says, then jumps when she sighs, annoyed. "D-did you have plans to continue, or—"

God, will he ever shut up? Just to be petty, she drags her hand up towards the head and then back down, cutting him off and making him choke on his words.

He's right though. The sooner he comes, the sooner they're done.

She's watched porn before. Just… lean in and suck, right?

Okay.

He's… she never really thought her mouth was _small_ before, but he… fills it. Uncomfortably so. She's seen gifs and images of people with cocks all the way down their throats but that's not going to happen here at _all_.

Maybe if she just… licks for now. He responded to that pretty well before, right? Right. Okay.

It's awkward to the max. She braces herself on his thigh with one hand, the other holding him steady as she just sort of… mouths over the head, runs her tongue down the shaft. He doesn't get any less hard, at least, doesn't ever stop tasting like anything except skin except at the very head, where the skin parts and— oh.

Huh.

Right. Uh. Hm.

She should probably move all his… _skin_ out of the way. It's so fucking weird watching it roll down his shaft like a turtleneck (and makes it _incredibly_ difficult to keep from snickering about it), and honestly it's a little grotesque when it's exposed fully, sticky and pink and, wrinkly, eugh.

Nose wrinkling, she licks it.

 _That_ gets a reaction— Akechi jerks above her, muffling a grunt with a hand over his mouth. So she does it again, angling him closer to her lips, her hand sliding up his shaft a little more. It pulls a shivery little whine out from him like he can't even help himself, his feet shifting, knees angling just the slightest bit further apart. Like he's asking for more.

Pathetic. Her lips curl up in something closer to a snarl than to a smile.

Maybe if she tries with the sucking thing again? He feels different in her mouth now, no less omnipresent but… softer, maybe. Gross. She has to do something weird with her tongue to make him fit, something that pulls another noise out of him, his hands moving in her peripheral vision. If he puts them on her she'll bite his cock right the fuck off.

"Kurusu..." She'd almost forgot he could speak; his voice makes her jump a bit. "Can you speed things up at all? We're on a time limit here."

Fucking ungrateful shithead she's literally on her knees in front of him with his _dick_ in her _mouth_ and he's telling her to _hurry up_ —

She yanks her head back, open palm hitting his thigh with a definite _smack_ . "Are you gonna suck your own dick, fuckhead?" she asks, infuriated. "You got any fucking concrit or are you just gonna sit up there and whine like a little _bitch—_ "

He interrupts her with a touch to her forehead, that shitty little smirk growing on his face again. "Ah, but weren't you the one saying that you had the wealth of experience to draw on? What were your words— "I could give head better than you any day, Akechi-kun?" You certainly are putting on an… _interesting_ show, Kurusu-san."

She's going to strangle him. She's going to strangle herself. She should bite him. Bite his fingers right off, wrench his stupid dick off so he can't ever let it bap against her chin again, sticky and warm and _gross_.

She also can't back down. The look he'd give her if she left like this… the look he'd give her any  time he came back to the cafe... the look he'd give her if he ever succeeded getting into Ren's pants—

No. That can't happen.

She can fucking _do this_.

"Fine," she snaps, and lowers her head back to his lap. He hasn't gotten any less hard in the meantime, which is disgusting in and of itself.

The best thing that she can say about the situation is that it's a learning experience.

She learns that if she accidentally catches him with her teeth he barks her name and tries to levitate off the bed.

She learns that sucking too hard makes him pull back, and pulling back makes him catch on her teeth, and catching on her teeth leads to him trying to levitate off the bed, and if he'd just _fucking hold still_ she could get _on with it._

She learns that he bitches until she figures out how to add her hand to the mix, jerking him raggedly, out of sync with what her mouth is doing, but it still works for him because he shuts the fuck up at the very least.

She learns that he gets blessedly, blessedly quiet when she gets the right amount of suction and friction.

She learns that he's an asshole who doesn't see fit to warn her when he comes. It's _disgusting_ , an overwhelming torrent of _warm_ and _salt_ and _bitter_ and _sour_ that makes her reel back, gagging. He's too busy with his fucking afterglow to notice her scrabbling for the nearest box of tissues, and thank _god_ there's one in reach that Ren knocked off the nightstand the other night and they've both been too lazy to pick back up.

It's awful. She's afraid she'll never get the taste out of her mouth.

His face is so goddamn red. It looks like all the blood that had been in his dick about ten seconds ago has shot straight up his neck to make him look like a beet. There’s a pearl of sweat clearly defined near his temple. He’s not moaning all ragged and sacked out blissfully like some kinda porno star, but the evidence of his happy ending still coats the inside of her mouth live varnish. So, hey, she fucking did it, didn't she?

Oh god, she _satisfied Goro Akechi_ . She's going to vomit. She's going to _actually vomit._

She almost does when something wet and slick catches her notice, a missed spot at the corner of her lips. She almost heaves, desperately pulls out five, eight, _ten_ tissues to get it off. It feels like no matter how hard she scrubs at her skin its presence stays there like a paste, a brand.

Well, she doesn't need a face to live, does she? Nothing a little acid to burn it all off won't fix.

His breathing calms down after a minute or so. It's so fucking weird seeing him like this. In fact, it's fucking gross. It’s a little better, at least, when she sees him tuck himself away in the corner of her eye, doing it in a flurry of motion that borders on prudish. Like he thinks putting his gross limp dick away faster will help him regain some respectability. It's not helping his dumb red face though, so at least she gets to make fun of him for that.

"Guess I did okay after all, huh, Akechi-kun?" she asks him mockingly.

He glares at her with a cocked eyebrow at that, "Kurusu, do you honestly think that was—" he swallows, some little gasp still stuck in his throat, " _impressive_?"

Well, yes? The most impressive thing is that she didn't throw up all over him from disgust. It was without a doubt one of the grossest, vilest, most degrading things she's ever done. She should tell him that, too.

She shrugs instead, "Gotcha off, didn't I?"

God, she cannot fucking believe she just said that. That she _admitted to it._

His face contorts into an expression she can't quite read, something between anger and shame and— challenge? "Are you really going to pat yourself on the back for a display like that? I could have achieved those results on my own," he says, still hoarse, still a little out of breath.

Akira sees red.

She shoves herself backwards and stands up, putting some well-needed distance between the two of them. "Yeah, okay," she snaps, humiliated and disgusted and half ready to cry. "So next time just bend over and do it yourself. We're done here."

He doesn't move.

 _He doesn't move_ , and there's some sort of weird shitty light in his eyes as he tilts his head at her, his hands adjusting his gloves, the sound of the leather against leather enraging her enough that she's about to throw a punch at him. "I… hm," he says thoughtfully, his mouth twisting down. "I'm not sure that we are."

"What do you _mean_ ," she snarls, nails digging into her palms from how hard she's clenching her fists. "You finished—" and isn't that a disgusting thought, one that still makes her want to gag a bit— "so just—"

He raises a single gloved finger. "You can't… truly say you're better than me unless you have something to gauge it against."

She doesn't understand what he means for a long, long, long moment, staring at him blankly, dumb, mute. When it does sink in she jolts backwards, defensive, horrified. "You want to put your _mouth_ on me?!"

"It would only be fair, would it not?" Akechi says, his smile pleasant and vapid and completely empty of emotion.

Oh god. Oh _god_ . This is really it isn't it? This is finally how she dies, how she's going to elect to kill herself. Because if there's one thing she'd rather cease existing over than let happen, it's the idea of Goro Akechi's shitty garbage mouth being anywhere _near_ her.

But... but... _fuck_ . Why is he right? And he fucking knows that he's right if that dumbass smile of his tells her anything. There's no way that she can back down from this, because if she does she just comes out a coward who couldn't take the bait and he walks out of here with a fucking free orgasm and another thing to add to his thousand-kilometer-high ego. He comes out having _won_.

She cannot allow that by any means.

She groans, bared teeth and glaring as she moves from her spot in the room. "Fucking... _whatever_." It’s more of an exasperated admission than anything as she goes to plop herself down at the end of the bed, as far away from him as she can manage because like hell is she just going to sit next to him and make life easy for him.

He looks at her. She just stares back like he's the biggest fucking idiot she's ever laid eyes on (which, well, he is), and gestures to the floor. "Well, are you just gonna sit there like a smug asshole? Or are you gonna put your fucking money where your mouth is?"

He raises an eyebrow up at her at first, but either gets the message or gets over himself, sliding himself off the bed with a careful calmness that he has to be faking and scooting himself over to kneel in front of her. It’s _awful._ She fucking hates looking at him like this, fucking hates him being this close to her. At least when she was in his position earlier his head was still leagues above her; while she wasn’t the biggest fan of the way he loomed over her, at least he was still a ways away from her face. Like this, though, they're fairly close; he'll have to lean down a lot more to get where he uh... needs to be.

Gross. Gross, gross, gross. It's even worse when he fucking puts his hand on her leg and starts pushing at the edge of her skirt like he has fucking any goddamn right to _touch her_.

She smacks his hand off of her, hard, before he gets very far. "What the FUCK do you think you're doing?"

He glares up at her, eyebrows saying confusion while the rest of him screams irritation. "Kurusu, I don't know how much you seem to think you know about this sort of thing, but I can't very well do what I have to without getting some things out of the way, can I?" He sits back on his legs and crosses his arms, "Unless, you'd like to take care of that?"

She _absolutely would not_ , but it's so much better than the alternative. Than _Goro fucking Akechi_ reaching under her skirt and _taking off her underwear._

"Do you even fucking know where your gloves have been, dipshit?" she snaps, borrowing anger to cover the way her fingers shake, the way her whole body wants to tremble as she shifts up just enough to put another inch between them, a little more space to, _god_ , reach beneath her skirt and hook her fingers into the waistband. Akechi's eyes drop at the motion, on where her skirt lifts up almost to her hip by necessity. She's still got a bit of a tan from the trips to the beach and the fishing hole and the long, leisurely days in Hawaii; she knows it's not far up enough for him to see the last of the fading tan line.

He still can see much more than she wants him to see. And now that he's paying more attention to that… area… it's just that much harder to conceal her nerves.

His mouth tilts up in that shitty little smirk when she rolls them down her thighs, leaning over to pull them off one leg, than the other. "I wasn't expecting flowers, Kurusu."

"Spend a lot of time thinking about my underwear, do you, _Akechi_?" she says, annoyance dripping from every word.

He shrugs, "I wouldn't go as far to assume that, but it's certainly something I wouldn't have thought of as an aesthetic choice for you." He leans closer when she settles back down and she wants to kick him in the face. "I would have figured you'd be more into something like knives or barbed wire."

She scoffs, annoyed. "Those weren't on sale, sorry to disappoint you."

"Ah, such a shame." he replies, his tone easy and carefree, but she knows he’s full of shit when she can feel his fingers shaking where they come to rest on her thighs. Good. At least she'd not the only one here who's nervous. She doesn't know if she'd be able to stand the idea of him looking forward to doing this sort of thing to her.

He looks down at her quizzically, like he's trying to decide what piece of evidence to present to the court, and she lets out the most irritated huff with a sharp, "What?"

His gaze meets hers again. He can't hide the fact that he has no fucking clue what to do. It's the only thing that gives her some relief, and a sharp vicious amusement that borders on hysteria. "Um," he starts, that cocky ass attitude of his fading away into the ether. "Did you want to...?"

Oh, for crying out loud.

"Just— just get on with it!" she says, stamping her foot like a toddler. Time is slipping away; she has no idea how long Ren's shift is tonight, or when he plans on coming back home. The longer he drags this shit out the more time Ren has to walk up those steps and come across her getting up to things with _Goro fucking Akechi._ She is _not_ going to let that happen.

She wishes she'd never done this. She wishes she could’ve just kept her fucking mouth shut. Because the second he flips her skirt up and she feels the air of the attic rushing against her exposed skin, she wants to disintegrate.

She can't avoid the way all of her blood rushes to her head, her cheeks burning an obvious cherry red. She's trembling so much she can feel herself vibrating against the mattress beneath her, so much that the shake in his own fingers is almost eclipsed as he scoots closer, his shoulders brushing the inside of her knees. This is so humiliating and— and scary, too, as much as she hates to admit it; she's never been this exposed in front of _anyone_ ; no one's ever been this close to her like this.

She's all but giving up her virginity to Goro _fucking_ Akechi.

His gloved hand lands on her inner thigh and she flinches so hard she has to catch herself on her hands behind her so she doesn't fall back. "What did I say about those nasty fucking gloves?!" Her voice is shriller than she wants it to be. "You've been on the _subway_ wearing those touching god knows what, don't touch me there with them!"

His brow furrows again, gratifyingly. "Are you suggesting that you'd rather I take them off?" The way he sounds makes it seem like he finds the idea just as distasteful as she does.

"I'm saying don't _touch me_ with them!" _Don't touch me at all, give up and go away, you've already seen so much more of me than I want you to..._

He doesn't leave, of course. That would be giving in. And as little as she knows about him, she knows they share that. He doesn't want her to win any more than she would let him.

HIs hand braces on the edge of the mattress instead as he leans in. She can feel his fucking _breath_ on her, and shakes a little harder, trying her best to rein it in. She can't. Can barely breathe behind the anxiety welling up in her chest, the fear of leaving herself so vulnerable making her want to choke.

He hesitates, his head so fucking close to her that she can't even see his mouth anymore. Just his stupid hair and his stupid eyes and she wants to stop, she wants him out and away from her she doesn't want this but she can't let him _win_.

He dips his head. His breath feels hot and gross.

And then it just feels… wet. Weird wet pressure moving over her, exploratory, testing. It doesn't really feel like anything except _ah_ wet.

Shit. She flinches a bit when he moves over her clit. Dumb fucking detective that he is, he does it again. She flinches again, breath rushing out her nose. It doesn't feel _great_ , but it does _feel_ . A _lot_.

She's no stranger to an orgasm. She knows how her own fingers feel, knows how to get herself off; she's quiet and fast about it.

This isn't anything like that.

He's uncoordinated, no rhythm. He's got the whole clit thing zeroed down on, but every time he runs his tongue over her she jumps, her whole body tight, breathing quick and shallow. She can't close her eyes because then all she'll do is recreate the sight of him there between her legs, his head moving; instead she stares at the rafters above, at the glowing stars from the planetarium that she and Ren stuck everywhere. They swirl in her vision, looking like the galaxy exploded above her as her body shakes and she becomes less and less focused.

He just keeps going, and she doesn't get any of the buildup, none of the familiar pressure in her gut; it's too slow, too soft, too wet, she doesn't have any sort of anchor and anything good she feels is overpowered by the anxiety that's bringing threatening heat to her eyes, making her tense, making her—

God, she can't do this, she can't, it's not going to happen, it'd take her hours to get off like this if she could even get off at all and Ren could be back _any fucking minute—_

She drags air in, a long unending gasp; he pokes his head up curiously as she lets it wheeze out, shifting back and away away _away_ . "Did you—" he starts, and " _Yes_ ," she cuts him off, immediate and emphatic. "I did. Good job, wow, nice, gold star, do you want a pat on the back?"

She doesn't like the way he's looking at her, calculating, his head tilted even as he politely (ugh, she's gonna gag) wipes his mouth with some of the tissues from the box she left on the floor.

"I uh..." he starts, placing his hand down in his lap and decidingly looking down and away from her _(good, don't)_. "Was that, are you sure you—?"

Holy fucking _shit_ who does he think he is, the orgasm police?

"Yeah, I did, you don't have to fucking rub it in, okay?" Because she knows that the way it looks right now it seems like he got her off faster than she did him. She doesn't fucking care. She could not possibly care _less_ about this stupid fucking challenge they decided to do because now he's seen more of her than he ever needed to see and she just wants him to leave.

This is so embarrassing. Humiliating. It's the absolute worst thing she's ever done in her life and she wants to just rewind time so that it never happened in the first place.

Her first time doing anything like this, and she couldn't even get off. And it wasn't with a boyfriend, wasn't with someone special, it was with Goro _motherfucking_ Akechi who now knows what she looks like and... _tastes_ like and she does of him too and god she's going to throw up or pass out or possibly _both_.

She curls in on herself instead, angry, upset, pulling her legs as close to her body as she can and essentially shutting herself off entirely. "We're done here. Go away." she says, her voice full of finality.

He doesn't say anything after that, for once in his fucking life; she hears him shuffling around like he's collecting his things, like he's walking towards the stairs. "Have a good evening, then, Kurusu," he says from a distance, pleasant. Vapid. Like they haven't just learned horrible, horrible things about each other.

She doesn't answer. Eventually his footsteps hit the stairs, descending.

She should go back down. She's got a counter to man.

But nobody ever comes by this late in the evening.

She'll wait a bit. Just long enough to make sure he's gone. Then she'll lock up. Go to the bathhouse. Scrub herself raw.

For now… for now she's just going to bury her face in Ren's pillow and cry until she stops shaking. Just for a little while.

Once she's choked the self-loathing and disgust down far enough, that's exactly what she does.

When the light fades enough that the street lamps click on outside, she makes her way down to the cafe proper, turns off the lights, and heads directly into the bathhouse. The steam that surrounds her is a welcome friend, purifying her as she scrub scrub _scrubs_ until she feels like her skin isn’t part of her body anymore. Every inch of her is red and sensitive by the time she's done, exacerbated by the hour or so she spends next to the taps, boiling herself until she feels ready to faint, but she has to do _something_ to make it feel a little less like she's been violated.

No... violated is a bad word. She'd let him do it. If she really wanted to say no she could have, and it would have been humiliating as hell but she still could have. He didn't do anything to her that would have constituted that sort of accusation.

It was just a stupid, _stupid_ mistake. She won't make it again.

When she leaves she debates between going to the gym and working off her frustration or just going straight to bed. She ends up doing neither and finds herself on Central Street, hungry and hankering to do just about anything she can to distract herself from the events she'd participated in a few hours prior. She's always been a glutton for dumb idea, and the Big Bang Burger Challenge is one that's definitely calling her name.

The last time she'd seen Ren try to take it on he'd only finished half of it and almost flopped over dead on the table. She'll be able to handle it no sweat.

It's one challenge she's sure to win tonight, at least.

When it does get to her it's blessedly greasy and disgusting, but it's exactly what she needs; something to make her stomach hurt and her body lethargic and get her mind on anything else. She also appreciates that fact that the taste gets any lingering ideas of that _other_ taste out of her mouth, blissfully lingering on bite after stupid disgustingly greasy bite.

God, she loves doing stupid shit like this. This is the dumb garbage she should be indulging in. She's already laughing to herself imagining Ren's horrified and disgusted face at her side. Her phone buzzes; she clicks the camera on to take a gross burgery selfie to send him—

Except it's not Ren. In fact, it's a number she doesn't recognize at all.

 

 **> >from: unknown**  
_Good evening, Kurusu. Do you mind if I discuss something with you?_

 

Oh fucking _no._

Her gut drops down through the center of the Earth. She knows that manner of speech; could, unfortunately, recognize it anywhere, and there is no fucking way in _hell_ she gave him her number. What the fuck did he do? Get it off of her phone while they were upstairs? Did he swipe it from Makoto somehow while they've been talking about the fucking school festival? There's no way, there's _no fucking way._

She answers him despite herself.

 

 **> >from: akira kurusu**  
_how in the ever loving fuck did you get my number???_

 

She hopes that her tone will be off-putting enough for him to stop. It isn't, of course.

 

 **> >from: unknown**  
_Ah, forgive me. I asked Amamiya for it earlier this evening. I did so under the guise of having left an important document at the cafe and needing to retrieve it from you._

 **> >from: unknown**  
_Fear not, your secret is safe with me._

 

The word secret makes her cringe. The idea alone that she and Akechi have a _secret_ to keep from Ren, _together,_ is more than enough to make her gag and want to rip out her insides.

 

 **> >from: akira kurusu**  
_what the fuck do you want from me?_

 **> >from: unknown**  
_Hm, classy as ever, Kurusu. Is this how you treat all new correspondents?_

 **> >from: akira kurusu**  
_just tell me what the hell you want before i block your number, asshole_

 **> >from: unknown** **  
** _Very well. I would like to meet with you tomorrow regarding the events of today._

 **> >from: akira kurusu** **  
** _no_

 **> >from: unknown** **  
** _I feel as though you weren't quite truthful with me earlier._

 **> >from: akira kurusu**  
_holy shit youre not actually the fucking orgasm police_

 **> >from: unknown**  
_As true as that may be, I was under the impression that we had engaged in what we did to, ah, prove a point, I believe you said? The point can't be proven if both parties weren't truthful, don't you think?_

 **> >from: akira kurusu** **  
** _what the fuck are you even trying to get at_

 **> >from: unknown**  
_A tiebreaker, perhaps._

 **> >from: akira kurusu**  
_idk what you mean_

 **> >from: unknown**  
_Don't play dumb, Kurusu._

 **> >from: akira kurusu**  
_i've never played dumb in my life_

 **> >from: unknown**  
_I'm sure._

 **> >from: akira kurusu**  
_fuck offfff_

 **> >from: unknown**  
_I'll be by the cafe tomorrow after school to discuss._

 **> >from: kurusu akira**  
_we're closed_

 **> >from: unknown.**  
_Ah. That certainly is unfortunate, isn't it? I suppose I'll have to stop by your train in the morning, then. It will be a little awkward to have a discussion like that in front of your friends, but perhaps if you managed to squeeze in beside me we could manage a modicum of privacy._

 

She's going to kill him.

 

 **> >from: akira kurusu**  
_dont come till after 5 ren works the flower shop then_

 **> >from: unknown**  
_As you wish. I'll see you then, Kurusu._

 

She can't finish the burger. Every bite she takes tastes like ash and sits heavy as lead in her stomach. Why can't he just fucking leave her alone?!

She leaves without victory, again. She goes home and shoves her face into her own pillow, praying for the darkness to consume her, wanting the world to shut down for just five minutes so she can think and reevaluate her life and how she ever got this this stupid, stupid point.

Ren comes home not long after, and the guilt she feels just looking at his innocent happy smile as he makes his way into their room hurts more than anything. It's _especially_ potent when he sits at the edge of his bed, removing his shoes and jacket without an ounce of a clue of what she'd done there just a bit ago.

She should have at least changed his sheets or washed them, as incriminating as that could have been. It would have at the very least made her feel a little less bad.

There's a part of her that wants to be honest, to tell him what happened because she feels awful and wretched and _scared_ and she doesn't know what to do about it. There's a cement block in her gut over the whole thing, and if there's anyone in the world she knows could chip away at it and make everything better, it's Ren; it will always be Ren.

She's not going to though. She can only imagine the look on his face. The pure disgust and betrayal he would feel over the situation. And, well, he _likes_ Akechi. She doesn't think for a second that if she told him he did something to her that Ren wouldn't bend over backwards to defend her honor and kick his ass, but she doesn't want to ruin that for him, for whatever stupid reason.

Ren just... doesn't need to know. Besides, it doesn't matter anyways. What's done is done. She's never going to let it happen again. He can want to talk about it, he can want to try and convince her of this and that and that things need to be on an even playing field or whatever, but she is never doing that sort of thing with him ever, _ever_ , again.

Goro Akechi is dead to her. She'll tell that to his fucking face as soon as she sees him tomorrow. For now, she just shuts her eyes and goes to sleep while Ren bustles around the room, flighty as always. She just wants it to be tomorrow. She just wants the day to be over so she never has to think about it again.

She can hardly sit still the entire day, chewing over what's going to happen this evening (nothing, nothing, _nothing_ is going to happen, he's going to say something and she'll nod and then tell him to fucking leave and he'll go and she can pretend nothing ever happened). Morgana's sitting with Ren today, thank fucking god; he doesn't see her get beaned in the forehead with chalk because she just can't focus, and Ryuji is a good enough friend that he won't tell anyone, won't even mention it except to wipe the smear of chalk residue from her forehead with his sleeve.

He's such a good friend. She manages to scrape up a grin for him, and splits her curry pan with him over lunch.

It's the last semi-decent moment she has all day, her stomach lurching harder and harder as Ren bustles around the attic and she lounges on her bed and pretends to do homework. What did he mean by tiebreaker? Does he actually want—

No. Don't think of it. Not with Ren there, brushing his hair over and over again like the fussy idiot he is, combing it one way, then the other, trying for his best angle. God she loves him.

She manages to smile for him too when he leaves, and one more for Sojiro when he closes up early. She's alone. The way she should be.

She's almost managed to untense when her phone vibrates beside her.

 

 **> >from: unknown**  
_Knock knock._

 

She doesn't bother to answer, just drags her hands through her hair as she sits up and makes her way downstairs. It's still light out, if just barely, but the cafe lighting is dimmed to the bare minimum. It looks like she feels in there, which is fine. it's almost dark enough that she doesn't have to look at his stupid face, even as she opens the door, even as she locks it behind him.

She doesn't turn around. "You said you wanted to talk. So talk."

"That's quite a way to treat a guest, isn’t it?" he asks playfully, tacking his stupid fucking laugh to the end of it. She can hear the fucking smile in his voice; she wants to slap it right off his goddamn face. "And I intend to, but don't you think we'd have a much nicer conversation if you stepped away from the door?"

She groans, dramatic as she can possibly make it with her head thrown back and all, before turning around and facing him. He stands there so _politely_ , his hands folded in front of him like he's about to say the Lord's prayer and wish her a happy holiday. Like he didn't come here so he could fucking talk about... talk about _that_ , the shit that happened that she wants to forget as soon as she possibly can. But she can't because he's making everything fucking difficult.

She has nothing for him. She crosses her arms and presses her back to the door, both putting distance between them and giving herself an easy escape route if she needs it. She doesn't doubt that she might.

"Fucking talk." she repeats, her patience wearing thinner by the second.

He seems more amused by her than anything, another thing she hates, but she lets it go. That is until he sighs and says, "I dislike that you tried to be dishonest with me yesterday evening."

She scoffs like it's the most offensive thing he's ever said to her. "Dishonest about fucking what? I didn't lie to you about _shit_."

He looks at her, knowingly. "Kurusu, honestly, this charade you're keeping up isn’t going to work.”

She glares harder and snarls, "What the fuck would you know about any of that? It's my body, not yours. You don't get to tell me whether I got off or not."

That amused little smile comes back, the one she wants to snatch right off his fucking face and stomp on until it curls up like a caterpillar and dies. "No, I suppose not. But looking into some things and doing a bit of research, I have a lot of reason to suspect that you weren't as satisfied as you'd like me to believe." And then he pulls out his fucking phone and unlocks it, tapping it a few times and glancing at it before he speaks again. " _The female orgasm is normally considered elusive and at times difficult to achieve, but done properly can result in what can be described as an electrifying feeling for the female. It often comes characteristically with the feeling of convulsions through the body, shaking, and bring about a shortness of breath and difficulty in retaining noise—"_

"What the _fuck_ are you going on about right now!" she all but shrieks.

He looks at her like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Research, Kurusu." he answers, clicking his phone screen off and tilting it towards his head. "When presented with a challenge, I usually like to go in more prepared, and unfortunately you threw me off with your sudden interest in this activity. But since then I've looked into things and learned the best ways to tackle this situation we've brought ourselves into. Therefor, I would like to give it another try, if you would be interested in doing so."

And then he crosses his arms and gives her a look that makes her want to rocket out of the room and never look back at Tokyo ever again.

"Especially since I know you were lying, and I'd like to make sure that doesn't happen again."

She's going to kill him. Or herself. Preferably both, one after the other. "No." She says it flatly, but her body language betrays her, arms wrapping tightly around herself. "There is no situation. There is _nothing_."

Akechi clicks his tongue around her in chiding disappointment. "And where's the competitive spirit from yesterday gone, then? As far as I'm concerned, I owe you, and I don't particularly enjoy carrying debts."

"And this is how you want to pay it back," she snarls more than says.

He tilts his head in a parody of a nod. "I also dislike the thought of leaving things unfinished. And because you weren't truthful with me..."

How dare he fucking try to pin this back on her?! He wants to put his mouth on her again, wants to subject her to the anxiety and fear she's not even over yet from yesterday. She shakes her head no, no no _no_ , but still he speaks.

"I can guarantee I have a better handle on what needs to be done this time, much more so than yesterday." And then he plays his trump card. "I doubt that you can say the same."

Fuck him. Fuck him so fucking hard. She hates him, hates hates _hates_ him. When she looks up, he's smiling that stupid shitty smirk. "If you aren't too nervous, that is. I understand the prospect is a little overwhelming—"

Without a word she brushes past him, heading for the stairs. He makes a low low laugh behind her. It sounds like failure. It tastes like losing.

Her first instinct when she makes it upstairs is to jump out the window. When she reasons with herself that Ren finding her broken, battered body outside would break his heart, she tries to calm down instead, taking deep breaths, fighting through the desire to shoot off through the roof and into the sun. She hears him climbing up the stairs behind her; she’s never felt more trapped by a decision she’s made, not even the night she literally spent in holding. No shitty adult or ambushing shadow could ever make her feel more cornered than the sound of Goro Akechi's fucking footsteps in this moment.

She has to breathe. _Breathe_. Just calm down. It's nothing. He'll get what he wants and he'll fail again because he's a fucking idiot, and the second it all starts feeling the same it did before she'll kick him in the face and throw him down the stairs like she should have done yesterday.

Maybe she'll break his arm. The prospect of that on its own is enough to get her to face him.

He does look a lot more confident than he did last night, standing at the mouth of the attic bedroom with a look in his eyes like he has a purpose and a mission. Even so, she can still see a hint of unsureness in the slope of his shoulders, the tilt of his head, the grip of his fingers on his briefcase. She shouldn't be able to, but she can. She hates that she's learned something about him. She hates that he’s probably learned ten times that much about her.

Whatever, it doesn't matter. If that tentative demeanor is there, it means he still doesn't know what he's doing. Same thing, nothing is going to change. Sit down. Kick him in the face. Break his arm. Goodnight and goodbye, _Akechi-kun_.

Or... she could just say no. She could just repeat that word over and over again and scream it in his face till he leaves. She could just tell Ren and he'd be home in what would feel like seconds, hiding her behind him like he always did when she was scared, telling Akechi to back the fuck off and never come back. She could. She should. She wants to.

Something in his eyes flares up like fire, like victory.

No. She can't let him have that again.

He gives her a look that's expectant, like he wants her to move or talk or do _something_. She just glares back at him. "What? You're the one who wanted to do this shit, what the hell are you just staring at me for?"

"Are you planning on standing the entire time?" Akechi asks her, like he's discussing waiting for a train rather than him putting his mouth on her again. "I don't know if I'd suggest that, especially with how much you were shaking last night—"

"Shut up!" she snaps. How dare he bring that up! What fucking more does he want from her?! She flops heavily down onto the bed— still Ren's, because as much of a sin as it is it's still not as bad as doing it on her own.

This is… she can’t believe she's doing this, that even now her pride is more important to her than this.

He doesn't move towards her yet. It makes her more anxious, him just fucking _staring_ at her like she's a free show or something. "Well?" she says impatiently. "I'm here, are you gonna fucking do something or...?"

He chuckles, "You're very impatient today. I've read that it's best to ease into these things and make sure that your nerves are calmed before we proceed, otherwise you're bound to have a harder time reaching a clim—"

She’s going to fucking _murder him_ if he doesn’t shut up! "Just stop fucking talking!! If you think just watching and fucking waiting around is gonna make me feel better or some shit you're dead fucking wrong!"

"Ah." he says, and god he sounds so casual she wants to punch him through the fucking wall. "Then what would help with that?"

Is he... is he really fucking asking her this right now? She has a goddamn _arsenal_ of answers for that one. Leave, go away, never come back, never show your fucking stupid ass face here in Leblanc ever again. Don't come near her or her brother or their friends as long as he fucking lives the rest of his stupid life.

She just lets out a shaky, agitated sigh and says, "Just— just let me—" and gestures down to her lower half with a quick irritated motion, "and look away for a fucking second."

He raises an eyebrow, "You're meaning to be so prudish after I've already—?"

" _Yes_! Fucking yes, okay, I don't have to explain myself to you just fucking—!" she makes an insistent twirling motion with her finger, glaring at him all the while.

He sighs and does what she asks without another argument. Good. It really doesn't make it much easier, like at all, but it’s still leagues better than if she’d had to do it with his stupid dumb calculating eyes on her.

She wants to claw them out. She wishes she could make it to where he can never look at her ever again.

She heaves out a sigh, a shaky "Okay" escaping as she drops her underwear to the floor. They're plain black this time, a self conscious decision that she hadn’t thought would actually come into play but hates that she made anyway.

If he's about to start staring at her again she's going to fucking lose it. "Let's just get this over with." she insists angrily, scooting herself closer to the edge of the bed. "If you're gonna do something then fucking go ahead and do it. I don't have all night."

"Of course." he answers, so fucking politely in that dumbass pleasant voice of his. It makes her sick. She feels even worse when he moves over to her, dropping back down in front of her just like yesterday, leaving them in the same position the were before.

She's already shaking, fingers crumpling up the sheets underneath her; she swears to every fucking god she knows that she’ll wash them this time before Ren gets home, and to hell with his questioning. It only gets worse when his hands make contact with the tops of her thighs, carefully, slowly, working to push her legs apart.

She jerks like she’s been shot. She can't help it, can't fight it; she's tense as a drawn bowstring and about to snap. Breathe in, breathe out, wait for his touch, this time if she knows it's coming it won't spook her...

She feels like she's waiting a long time, staring at the ceiling, breath already shallow and forced. What is he even fucking _doing?_

Looking at her, apparently, when she looks back down to see. His expression is curiously blank. "What's the holdup?" she demands, trying and failing to ignore how wavery her voice is.

He sits back.

What?

"Kurusu," he says with a put upon sigh, "this isn't going to work if you're fighting me every step of the way "

"I'm not fighting you!" she snaps, even though she absolutely is. "I just—"

"I understand that it might be an overwhelming and unnerving experience, doing something so intimate with someone you barely know, but if you keep winding yourself up like this it's not going to go anywhere." He stands up and dusts his knees off. "Why don't we go back downstairs and have a cup of coffee first? That should give you adequate time to calm down, don't you think?"

If she could punt him across the room, she would.

But he's right. And they both know it. And that just makes it worse, because there's literally no reason to fight it. All that would do is make her look like a spoiled brat who's just fighting to fight.

Which she is, but now that he's brought it to her attention she can't keep doing that without losing face.

"Turn back around," she demands, fishing over the side of the bed for her discarded underwear without moving. This time he doesn't fight her on it, though she swears she sees amusement on his face as he does.

There is something grounding about having the thick wooden counter back between them, something centering about the step by step process of fixing coffee for herself. He can have the leftovers from the pot still on the burner, Sojiro's usual blend. He doesn't complain, thankfully; Sojiro's leftovers are better than any regular coffee by far.

Step by step, grind pour brew decant hold it under her nose until it's all she can smell, all she can fixate on. He's blessedly quiet too, until they're halfway through and he sets his cup down with a gentle clink.

"I have no interest or intention to force you into doing anything you don't want to do, Kurusu," he says. So virtuous. "You have the option to say no, and I'll be gone."

She believes him too. That's the awful thing. She could say no and he'd walk right out that door and she'd have to live with the knowledge that she's too much of a coward to let Goro fucking Akechi get her off.

She could say no.

She sips her coffee instead. Too hot, too bitter, still better than the taste of him in her mouth.

He finishes his cup before she's done with hers, setting it politely on the bar. Rather than have him sit there and stare at her, she chugs the rest of her coffee in one long burning swig, then sets both mugs into the sink for later.

Climbing the stairs this time feels less like going to the guillotine and more like a chore she isn't enthusiastic about doing. The extra caffeine isn't going to do much for her sleep schedule, but for now it warms her, like liquid rock in her stomach.

He turns before she can ask him to, face politely averting while she assumes her former position.

She exhales once, long and soothing. "Okay." she repeats, voice far more under control than the first time. "Okay, I'm good."

He turns back around, his gaze curious but a lot less daunting than it was before. Taking the invitation, he approaches her again, kneeling back down on the floor the way he was earlier. This time he doesn't touch her yet, his hands bracing himself against the mattress instead of her legs. For some reason, that lets her breathe just a little bit easier. He wasn’t lying when he said it was going to be different this time. She feels buzzy still, antsy and jittery and full of nerves, but at least she can count some of that on the caffeine.

She can do this. It's not that scary she'll be fine. And there's no way he really knows what he's doing so it'll go exactly the same way and she can get on his ass about it and make him leave. She can see it as funny this time. He doesn't know _anything_ about pleasing a girl, and she'll get to make fun of him for it as much as she wants, as much as she _can_.

She watches his hands rest on her legs this time. It makes her jump, just a little, but it's a significant improvement from the last time. He does the same motion again, pulling her knees apart to where she can feel the air of her bedroom coming in contact with her again. Not enough to push her skirt out of the way to expose her. She bites her lip as she waits for him to flip it up and push the fabric aside, for him to lean down and start the whole garbage process again.

And then he catches her off guard, because instead his hands move to the inner parts of her thighs. He pushes forward, lightly, gently, gloved fingers slipping up towards the crux of her legs.

Oh _hell_ no _._

"Dude!" she yells, grabbing his wrists and shoving them away. "What the fuck did I tell you about your fucking gloves?!"

He blinks up at her, "Kurusu, this is part of my process. From everything I've researched I've found it best to—"

"Blah blah blah I don't care!" she interrupts, infuriated and impatient. "I have no idea where those nasty things have been, and you are not fucking— fucking _to_ _uching me down there_ with those things!"

She knows, she knows it's stupid to fight for the sake of fighting, she knows but if she stops she's going to lose some critical piece of herself. To her surprise, though, he nods and leans back, stripping his gloves off one at a time and setting them neatly next to himself.

She can't watch what comes next. She tilts her head back— then jerks it forward as she hears another sound, an unfamiliar snap.

When he touches her again his hands are foreign textured, smooth. "I had a thought that you might still be insistent," he says, "so I figured this would be an admirable compromise."

"Did you just put medical gloves on?" she says incredulously, as he pushes her thighs further apart again, shuddering as his fingers trail up skin that's never been touched by anyone else before, sensitive and tingling. "Like, latex ones?"

"Safe sex is important, Kurusu," Akechi chides, as if his tongue hadn't been on her less than twenty four hours ago. Something blunt— not something, his gloved finger, or maybe a thumb, brushes against her.

She tenses, but the overwhelming fear doesn't come back. The anxiety swells, but not enough to swamp her. It feels like a thumb, touching her clinically, exploring her folds. Pulling her open, just a bit. Sliding up and down, leaving warmth and then shocking cold in its wake.

He's toying with her like she toyed with him. Fair play. She can get mad about it but she can't complain.

Her skirt is moved up gently, folded neatly and pushed back, not like the flippant shove aside from before. She sucks in a breath. She expects the same touch to come.

It... doesn't.

She can feel him touching her, moving his fingers around, but it’s… different. It's not like it feels amazing, no sparks flying and no nerves stimulated; in fact, he hasn't touched her clit at all. He's just touching around her, carefully, gingerly, like he's trying to do a thorough examination of her. It feels like what she expects a gynecology appointment to be like. It's barely even sexual, and that almost makes it weirder.

But, it's not like... scary. The anxiety is still there, her heart still pounding like she’s ten kilometers into a 20 km marathon, but it's nothing like it was the first time, or even the second time before this one. She's still shaking, but not as badly; her fingers detach themselves from the bedspread underneath her, then  fist again when he pokes around a little further. Again and again, a repetitive motion, a tiny bit of control held over the situation. Focus on her breathing, and the fabric balled up in her hands. Nothing more.

She’s not thrilled that he's getting so exploratory with her, because it's just more of her body that she doesn't want him to see. _No one_ has ever seen this much of her; thinking about that makes that same sickening pit in her stomach rear its ugly head again. But it's still better than before. He's being gentle, the latex of the gloves creating a weird, unnerving feeling against her. It’s a little better; less personal, more clinical. At least he's not touching her. At least his skin has yet to come into contact with her.

She knows his tongue has touched her, sure, but somehow the idea of his bare fingers being inside of her makes her feel a lot worse. This... she can work with this.

At some point, something changes. Her breathing slows. Her grip on the sheets beneath her eases up somewhat, from white-knuckled anxiety to simpler tension. He's not going too fast, not like yesterday. His touch is just that. A touch. One hand holding the inside of her thigh, the glove warm and kinda rubbery, the other just… putting his fingers on her. All over.

The anxiety recedes like the ocean at low tide, ever-present but farther away. She feels… kinda floaty, if she has to think too much about it. Floaty and a bit detached from herself. It's altogether a much more welcome state of being than near-panic-attack was.

Something changes. His thumb presses between her lips again, moves in a way that's different from before. There's a sound. A wet sound, and a soft exhale that doesn't come from her. She doesn't wanna think too much into it, so she doesn't.

Until he does it again, presses into her— doesn't press _in_ , but presses against her, firm, steady. Pulls down. That wet slick noise happens again, barely audible. He rubs his thumb right at the edge of what feels like her entrance, slow circles that don't set off her fight or flight reflex. Not pushy. Not over eager. Taking his time. Fucking gross. She feels like her head is full of cotton.

He exhales again, in a way that sounds smug even when she's not looking at him. His thumb travels up, up up up until she hisses in a breath; when she exhales, it presses down on her clit fully, finally, a dull, low ache that makes her want to— _no_. She's not gonna help him along, Mr. "Oh I spent all last night researching the female orgasm just to prove that you didn't actually get off haha".

It's too heavy a touch. Somehow that makes it better; at least, until he lightens it just a bit. She squirms. The latex of his glove is weird and smooth and it chafes at her just a bit, just enough to put it on the wrong side of pleasurable. Just enough to pretend that she doesn't want to lean into it.

He drags his thumb back down, never losing contact with her skin. Slips it back up. When he touches her clit again, it's with a too-quick slick motion. She can't help but gasp, can't help but squirm again. It feels better than it has any right to. Nothing like when she touches herself; the angle is wrong, the pressure coming from a completely different angle.

Around and around and around, dizzying, maddening, just this side of not enough. Her forearm hits her face, pressing against her closed eyes, her breaths sound too harsh, too strident, too loud in the silent room. Not loud enough to overwhelm the gross wet slick noise his gloved fingers make as he diddles her.

His other hand, almost forgotten, moves up too. Blunt pressure, barely noticed; he's leaning so hard to one side that she's getting oversensitive, so much that she can't control her voice. Little gasps, a groan or two, all escaping without her consent.

Louder when he puts a finger into her. Just one, just a little bit, but with the friction on her clit it feels tantalizing, something to bear down on, and she should tell him to get out and never even fucking think of touching her like that without her permission again but she's, she's just, she's too focused on how the heat building up in the pit of her stomach makes her want to kick her leg out, bend her knee wider so he stays on that angle, right there, don't—

He fucking stops, because of fucking course he does. His finger inside her abruptly feels less pleasant and more like an unforgivable intrusion, even as he flicks her clit with the edge of his thumb. "Theoretically," he says, "you should be able to orgasm more than once. Isn't that fascinating?"

She's about to show _him_ something fascinating if he doesn't get fucking on with it. "Don't— you haven't even managed to get me off _once_ yet," she breathes, high and shaky, "don't go getting ahead of yourself—"

"Ah, you're right. Excuse my rudeness." Finally finally _finally_ he starts moving again, carefully, like he's testing something, trying to figure out what angle makes her shake. There's something that he does-- presses up from below, that has her seeing sparks, has her slapping both hands over her mouth to try and shove the whine back between her lips.

It's not fair. None of this is fair. Her heart's racing again, but with something light and frantic, not the dark heavy morass of gross emotions from before. She bites into her sleeve to keep herself quiet, not that it does much good. Every time she squirms, his hands chase her, his finger anchored inside her, so deep now that she can feel his knuckles brushing her, pressing in and up, and that should gross her out but it doesn't, it feels _good_ , _she_ feels good, better than she has in days, weeks, she can't remember when the last time was, and it's not _fair_ that it comes from Goro _fucking_ Akechi's hands but oh, _oh,_ **_oh_ ** _—_

It's not _fair._

A short sharp whimper escapes her as she clamps down, as the waves of sensation roil through her with the force of a thunderclap. It's been— fuck, she doesn't know how long it's been since she's gotten off but she can't ever remember it hitting her like _this_ , overwhelming her, radiating all the way from her core to her scalp to her fingers to her toes.

Belatedly, she realizes she's all but trapped Akechi between her knees, his hands still trapped on her, taking her through the aftershocks. She lets her legs drop immediately, going scarlet all the way down to her neck. Shit. There's no way she can pass that off as something casual.

She expects him to say something, anything, to do something, _anything_ . He doesn't. He doesn't even move, stays still as stone between her thighs, his hands still warm on the inside of her legs. Vaguely, she's aware that his thumbs are still moving, stroking up and down against skin still sensitive and tingling, but nothing more than that. He doesn't move until she drags herself up, feeling slow as syrup and wrung out and _warm_.

She doesn't want to look at his face. She does anyway. His expression is… inscrutable.

His pants are visibly tented. She swallows and averts her eyes, not ready to— to look. To think. The thoughts come anyway.

Was it— she lost track somehow, between sitting down and sitting up. Was it faster? Was it longer than the one she backed out of yesterday? Did he really get her off faster than she got him?

Did _she_ make _him_ feel this good?

That's a thought she shies away from, not wanting to look at it any closer than necessary. She doesn't care how she made him feel farther than in the context of this weird power play they're still involved in. She scoots further back, back until his hands drop from her legs.

The air between them is thick and awkward. Akira scrubs her sleeve across her mouth, wipes her hand on her uniform skirt, anything to avoid whatever has to be said.

He's the one to breach it, of course, still on his knees in front of her, almost supplicatory. "That seemed much more satisfactory," he says pleasantly, "wouldn’t you agree?"

She can't trust her voice, can't even trust her own reactions, his words bringing fresh heat to her cheeks. He doesn't have to rub it in, okay?! God, she can still feel a phantom touch on her, still… wet, still coming down from it all. As awful a situation as it is… she feels less tense than she has in literally weeks. Maybe months.

When she doesn't reply, he goes on. "I would have set a timer, but that seemed rather distasteful."

"Yeah, you think?" she grits out. Her voice is hoarse. It wobbles a bit. _Fuck_.

He doesn't zero in on it, though. Weird. Makes sense a moment later when he opens his mouth again. "I feel like, were you to try again, today's results might be more equitable."

It takes a moment for what he's getting at to register. When it does, the heat in her face comes back for a different reason.

He's not wrong. Especially now that she knows what to expect, knows how to handle the heft of him,  the weight and the, ugh, taste. The post-orgasm buzz is dying down enough that she recognizes how shitty of an idea it is, but if she says no now it'd be like… it wouldn't be fair play.

Just because she chickened out yesterday doesn't mean she can wave him off today. It's not...honorable, even though there's very little of honor to be had with whatever they're doing.

She scrubs her hand across her mouth. "If I do," she says, still hoarse, "do not come in my fucking mouth again, or I'll give it right back and you won't like where I put it."

He looks at her thoughtfully, calculating, but nods a moment later with  an easy going “Very well." His eyes are full of challenge when he backs away, taking off the gloves with a quick snap and putting his own back on, smoothing his hands over his slacks like he's trying to get himself to keep calm. At least... at least it's not easy for him either. It's the only thing that makes switching their spots in the room more manageable.

This is the last time though, she promises herself. Pride be damned, it's done and they can let this all go by the wayside. As soon as she finishes her part to make it fair. As soon as he whines, his hand over his mouth like he can catch any noise he makes and shove it back into his mouth. As soon as she rears back and shoves the tissue box roughly into his hand the second he lets her know he's about to come. As soon as he leaves her bedroom with that stupid fucking smile of his before she throws a pillow directly into his face.

It's over. She got through it and it's over. She won't make that mistake again. Just another thing crossed off in her book of dumb decisions.

When she lays back down across her bed for the night, she clocks out almost instantly.

...it's the fastest she's fallen asleep in almost a year.


	2. reopened

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're sorry about the delay on this chapter! Between life and writer's block and just struggling through this one in general, it took us a while to get ourselves back on top of it again. We're hopeful the next one won't take us quite as long, but please be patient with us! Thank you and we hope you enjoy.
> 
> (canti apologizes for nothing)

Akira Kurusu is not a morning person— never has been, never will be.

She’s always been the sort of child that made her parents crazy and her teachers exasperated, waking up late and showing up to school even later with little to no excuse. Ren's not like her; he's always been good about getting himself up and moving, kind enough to try and coerce her into his morning routine over and over through the years. And even then it's still a fight almost every single morning. The only thing that gets her up is the promise of coffee held tantalizingly out of her reach (or sometimes just a pillow slammed directly into the back of her head and between her shoulders, over and over until she howls and struggles to grab onto it. Ren’s an asshole, and he knows her well.)

That’s been the case even more so since they moved to Tokyo on probation; the whole cafe smells like coffee, she’s gained an immunity, so more and more these days her mornings start with smacking and end with her hunched sullenly over a mug of coffee while Ren dishes out curry with a disgustingly bright smile.

So when she wakes up to silence and the faint hints of sunlight, something already feels off.

Her neck isn't stiff. Her back doesn’t ache. Her eyes aren't gritty and hot. Her bones don't feel like she's made of lead.

She feels… good.

Good enough to roll over and check her phone, squinting— she's awake before her alarm, something that hasn't happened in… since before they came to Tokyo, at least. Maybe not ever.

It's only fifteen minutes before the alarm will go off, sure, but that’s still enough time for her to close her eyes and sigh, drifting back off into the warmth of the dreamspace she'd just left—

And then she remembers what exactly that dreamspace was, and her eyes fly open, her face scarlet, pulling the covers over her head in case either Morgana or Ren are awake yet.

She was dreaming of— not anyone in particular, but some _thing_ in particular, an echo of the warmth that she'd felt at the hands of one smarmy fuckoff detective, and that more than anything wakes her up fully with the finality of a bucket of ice water to the face.

Her dreams were.... It was like soaking in a perfect bubble bath, skin becoming flushed and sensitive and reacting to touch and touch and _touch_. She shudders at the memory, the way that it jellied her bones and eased the tension in her muscles.  Traces of latex and warm fingers and—

She cringes, shoving her head a little further under her pillow.  What the fuck?! Why this, why now? She's no stranger to getting off. Orgasms aren’t a foreign thing. Sure, they’ve been few and far between over the last half year or so, it’s not like she’s going to rub one out when her _twin brother_ is sleeping in the bed kitty-corner to hers (much less with the _actual kitty_ that shares her bed half the time) but she’s not some sort of squirming, blushing virgin to sit here and _moon_ over getting off from someone else’s _hand—_

But— 

There's a warmth left inside her, pooling into her gut as the final lingering dream-memories start to fade away; touching, moving, heat. Part of her, still mostly asleep, clings to the memory of _languid boneless relaxed—_

And then two alarms go off, one next to her head and another from the other side of the room, and she jumps hard enough to thump her head into the wall, dragging the blankets all the way over her head as she groans and curls up into the fetal position.

Ren's awake immediately, of course, because that's how he is. Morning people are _disgusting._ She can hear him groan as he gets up and moving, hears him pop what sounds like every vertebrae from his neck to his tailbone and then cross the room, Morgana's tiny feet pattering across the floor alongside him. They stop though after a second, like something's caught his attention.

She squishes her face harder into her knees, like if she just tries hard enough she can force the flush away from her cheeks, her ears, the back of her neck.

"'Kira? You already up?" Ren asks, moving over to her bed and placing a hand on top of her head. It sends a jolt through her but she's able to shake it off.

"Y-yeah," she says. "Bad dream. ‘M good."

The hand on her head moves down to her shoulder; she only has a moment to tense before he yanks the covers off her, completely ignoring her complaint. It’s almost nice, for him; he leaves them bundled up over her feet instead of crumpled in a sad heap all the way at the foot of the bed. She rubs her eyes and grimaces, twisting to squint up and over her shoulder at him. He must find something funny about it because his mouth twists up at the corners even as he reaches for the shelf over her head and drops her glasses (fake, just as fake as his) onto her nose.

"You haven't had one of those in a while," he says, dodging her uncoordinated slap and pulling his pajama shirt off. She gags, loud and obnoxious. He laughs at her without laughing, something in his eyes and his posture. "Do I need to be worried? I’d’ve thought you’d be settled in by now."

She has settled, for the most part. The last time she was stressed enough for the nightmares was back during that heartstopping, blood-curdling stretch of time when Makoto was trailing them, threatening to rat them all out to the principal and ruin their lives all over again.

Okay, that's a lie, she's had them since then, just not bad ones...

This wasn't even really a "nightmare" in most contexts anyway.

"It's just a bad dream, Renren," she lies. "It’s fine."

"Sure," he says, finding his sweater hanging on their workbench chair and grabbing hers to throw her way, "but you're still my baby sister, I have to make sure you're not just gonna run for the hills out of nowhere."

She doesn’t manage to catch the sweater before it hits her square in the face. Sue her, it’s _early!_ "I am _not_ your baby sister. I’m only like eleven minutes younger than you."

"And therefore, a baby. An infant! You're basically a zygote, I can't even see you!"

She groans and he laughs at her again, throwing his sweater over his arm and waltzing over to smooch the top of her head with an overdone _smeck_. She lands a hit on his chest with the back of her hand, at least. “Go away and make me breakfast.” 

“What was that?” he taunts, already halfway down the stairs. “All I heard was _wah, wah, baby wants her bottle—”_

“You’re gonna be the _wah wah_ once I get through with you!” she yells after him, grumbling at the laughter that floats up the stairs at her. Not half a minute later, she hears the sounds of him setting up the french press.

God, he's so thoughtful. She deserves to be his sister less and less every day.

She sighs and sits up, swinging her legs over the bed until her feet rest on the cool wooden floor. She shouldn't be bothered by this. Dreams are dreams are dreams, nothing more, but she really can't deny that it made her... feel things. What exactly those things were, she doesn't know, but they're definitely still  sitting in her gut like a heavy reminder.

Her cheeks won’t stop flushing. She's glad Ren's downstairs now.

Oh, _shit,_ though, Morgana _isn’t._

He’s still sitting at the top of the stairs, just as tired and groggy as she is. For a cat that makes such a big stink about needing to go to bed early, he sure is a terrible early riser. She'd give him a lot more shit for it if she didn't know he’d give it back and more. There’s a reason he’s her favorite.

"Are you sure you’re doing alright, Akira?" he asks. "I know the whole Okumura thing has everyone on edge lately, but I'd hate to see one of our leaders losing their edge. We need you guys in tip top shape."

She gives him a genuine, albeit small, grin, interrupted almost immediately by a yawn. "Yeah, Mona, I'm alright.”

He seems fairly satisfied with that, letting out a mewling yawn of his own that's cute enough for her to want to pick him up and pet him mercilessly. She doesn't, if only because he’s already on his way downstairs to start begging for table scraps.

He stops for a second though, giving her a glance back. "Hey, Akira? Now that I'm thinking about it, can I ask you something?"

She blinks and tilts her head.

He turns back around. His expression is... awkward? Nervous? He looks like he's not sure how to ask what he plans on asking, which piques her interest in turn.

"I was just wondering..." he starts. "Has uh, has Akechi been up here recently?"

Well, fuck, she's done for.

"What?" she says, because it's about the only thing she _can_ say. Her mouth feels like it's full of cotton, like her tongue has expanded  four sizes too large for her jaw, sitting fat and heavy in her mouth like a stone.

He looks off to the side, "It's just, I can sort of smell him? I know that's weird, and I'm not a hundred percent sure about it, but he doesn't usually come up here, does he?"

Son of a _bitch,_ she hadn't thought about that at all. Damn Mona and his fucking perceptive cat senses and being able to sniff out smarmy detectives that don't fucking belong in their fucking bedroom.

She doesn't have a clue what to say. The truth is obviously not an option, but she’s never been able to successfully lie to his face before. She has to think of something fast, though, because a poker face is not in her skill set.

She goes for deflection instead. "Have you asked Ren?"

Oh, the waves of awkward tension that spread across his face. He’s so expressive, even with the limitations of his feline features. "I mean..." he says, "I would have, but it started coming off of his sheets a couple days ago, and I wasn't sure if I should. I'm not with him every day so I don't always know what he's doing, but, uh..."

Oh. Oh. Oh no. It's an unfortunate outlet, but one she can’t do anything but take advantage of.

So she shrugs. "I mean, you know Ren’s into him, and it’s not like I’m watching him every second of every day. Who knows what he could get up to up here—"

"AH! Okay, sorry I asked! It's probably nothing, I'm hungry!" And just like that he's bolting down the stairs.

Her back hits the mattress again the second she's sure he's gone, and she drags her pillow over her face to muffle her anguished groan. Of course, _of course_ she forgot about that. She should have thought about Morgana being able to notice something like that. He can act like he's not a cat all he wants, but if it walks like a cat and sniffs like a cat...

But... it's fine. Calm down, breathe in and breathe out. It doesn't matter anyways. It'll never happen again. It’s not ever going to be an issue. She's not going to make the same mistake twice. Or, well... a third time, anyways.

Something churns in her gut and makes her feel even stranger. She throws her blanket off and rolls over onto the cold floor in favor of chasing it away with breakfast.

School is weird. Usually she spends her days dozing off, or trying her damndest to pay attention and failing miserably, or making faces across the row at Ryuji when she just can’t concentrate anymore. Today is different, though. She's not used to feeling so alert and awake in the mornings, not used to actually having the focus to listen to the teacher and scribble down cursory notes. Whether she'll use them or not is another story altogether, but the fact that she can write them at all is cause for self-examination.

Her shoulders don't hurt. Her neck doesn't ache. She doesn't feel the need to stretch and fidget and shuffle in her seat as much as she usually needs to. She even finishes her assignment before the end of class, and spends the rest of her time helping Ryuji muddle his way through too.

She doesn't get it. She doesn't know if she wants to get it.

She feels so well, in fact, that she catches the corners of her mouth tilting up as she stares out the window during the last class of the day. She's got so much energy… they don't have a Metaverse run planned, so she can't burn it off that way. Maybe she'll see if Ryuji wants to go to the gym— but no, he's got plans with his mom today, she's got a bit of free time and he wants to hang out with her. Maybe she'll grab Ren and they can go try the big bang challenge again?

Or, hell, why not both? He's got that shift at the flower shop right after school, so it'll be a couple hours before he gets home anyway. She can waste some time at Untouchable riling up her favorite ex-yakuza, see if they've got any new models, run a 5k at the gym, shower at the bathhouse, drag Ren out for some carb loading. Sounds perfect. 

A perfect afternoon. What a great day.

Her post-run endorphins last right until they don't, when she walks into the cafe with her hair still dripping down her back to find Ren deep in animated discussion with one Goro fucking Akechi.

She can literally feel her stomach drop out through the bottom of her torso, disappearing off to places unknown. What— what is he doing here? Did he— is that what they're talking about?! But no, it couldn't be, because he knows she'd pull the trigger on their mutual destruction faster than he could even fucking blink.

The traitorous doorbell rings above her when she opens it, which of course catches the attention of both her brother and one asshole detective that she'd rather die than meet eyes with directly.

"Oh, hey Aki!" Ren says to her all innocent and bright.  He's got a mug in one hand and a pot of coffee in the other, and she can only guess who it's for. "You're home a little later than I thought you'd be."

She stills like a deer caught in headlights, unsure what to do, putting every single bit of effort she has into making sure that she absolutely does not look Akechi's way. Instead she swallows the visceral hate and emotions trying to bubble and seethe their way up her throat and puts on the biggest grin for her favorite person.

"Ah, sorry about that!" she says, cheery and overdone and fake. "I went out and did some stuff, no big deal. Besides, I thought you were working tonight?"

She definitely put too much emphasis on the last part. She is in no way a great actress.

 "Oh, she cancelled on me today," he says, casually placing the cup down on the counter. She can see black-gloved fingers catch the handle of it, fingers she ignores. "She said her son wasn't feeling well so she wanted to keep the shop closed. I came home and took over so Sojiro could run some errands."

"Huh!" she says, a bright and chipper syllable that means nothing, and fixes her eyes on the far wall. "Well, you seem to have things well in hand—" _urk—_ "down here, so I'm gonna go change. Will Sojiro be back anytime soon?" _Please say yes, please say yes, please come to big bang and let her forget this hiccup in her excellent day_ —

"I dunno," he answers. Damnit. "He's been gone a little while, said that he needed to go pick up something from across town. Hopefully not too much longer but I couldn't tell you to be sure. ‘S not a big deal." He makes a nauseatingly obvious grin and wink. "Besides, I don't mind hanging out with my favorite customer."

Akira hears him laugh, that fucking polite awful fake laugh she hates more than anything in the world. "You flatter me, Amamiya. I'm no different than anyone else, and I'm sure I don’t spend as much money here as the regulars do."

Ren chuckles right back, because of course he does. "None of them are as fun as you, Goro. Trust me."

Gross, fuck, no no _no_. She's going to lose her fucking mind if she has to hear another second of this bullshit. She huffs as she presses forward through the cafe, preparing to march herself upstairs and slam her blankets over her head to pretend that this nightmare downstairs isn't happening. Perfect afternoon be damned, it's already too late for her now.

She moves past the booths, the front end of the counter, the barstools—

A hand grabs at her shoulder, the touch gentle and easy, stopping her dead in her tracks.

"Were you planning on walking through without saying hello, Kurusu?" she hears him ask, sickeningly politely, behind her.

_his hands on the insides of her thighs and his thumbs spreading her open and his finger anchored inside her as he—_

"Aki, be nice," Ren chides from behind her. "He's a paying customer and a friend!"

It's a good thing he can't see her face, because she's gone red up through her ears, superheating in an instant. She wriggles her shoulder trying to remove his hand. He doesn't take the hint; he presses down harder. "Guess I was," she grits out as evenly as she can. "I really want to get changed, if you'll excuse me—"

"Aki, I barely saw you today," she hears Ren say behind her, sounding like he's pouting overdramatically. "Come sit down and have some coffee and tell me about your day!"

"Can't it wait until I've changed?" she asks a little desperately, her flight reflexes screaming bloody murder, the hand on her shoulder a ten-ton weight keeping her in place.

Her salvation comes from the last place she'd ever expected it.  "Of course," Akechi says, releasing her so suddenly she has to take a step forward to compensate. "We wouldn't want to be late, would we?"

That catches her attention in the worst way. Her head turns towards him before she can even think. She doesn't even know what to say, aside from the hurried “What?” that drops out of her mouth before she can stop it.

His eyes go wide, eyebrows raising in the fakest surprise she's ever seen in her fucking life. "What? Did you forget already, Kurusu-san? I'm surprised, I thought you had a much better handle on your schedule than this."

Ren peeks over the counter, way too interested for his own stupid nosy good. "Huh? What's going on?"

Akechi turns from her, pasting his stupid tv-perfect smile across his mouth. "Ha, I guess she must have forgotten if she hasn't told you. Kurusu and I actually have plans for the evening."

"What?" she says again, Ren's voice accompanying it. Akechi ignores her and keeps his focus on him.

"Yes, we talked about it a few days ago, but I suppose I shouldn't be shocked that she doesn't remember. The two of you are usually busy, after all."

Holy fucking shit, he is _not_ doing this to her right now. She has no idea what stupid little game he's trying to pull here, but it's not fucking funny and she doesn't want anything to do with it.

She's about to kick his ass, to call him out on his lying bullshit and shoot up the stairs (not before punching him in his stupid cocky asshole face for even suggesting it), until she sees Ren's face behind him, lighting up little by little.

_Oh god, oh no, Ren please don't say anything, or say that we have something to do already please just—_

"I didn't know you guys were starting to get along!" he says with the excitement of a mom whose four year old just won a beauty pageant.

_Fuck._

Goddamnit, god _damn_ him, there's no fucking way she can back out now, is there?? There's something ugly in Akechi’s eyes, something that looks like triumph even behind his pleasant-boy smile. "As a matter of fact," he says, his voice slick, "we've been getting along _quite_ well lately, haven't we?" 

_his cock pulses in her mouth, overwhelming her with bitter fluid, making her gag and cough and gasp for air as she pulls away, as he makes a noise above her she has negative interest in decoding—_

The brittle look on her face freezes solid, and that's the best she can hope for as she mutters "uh-huh" through her teeth.

Ren beams like he's just been told he won the lottery. "Aki, I'm so happy you're making friends!!" he says, coming around the counter to pull her into a rough embrace, complete with knuckle noogie. She bats at his hands but ducks her face into his shoulder anyway, blocking her view of Akechi's smug stupid fucking face. She doesn't want to see it. Stand between them a little longer...

Of course he doesn't. He steps away with a hand on her shoulder, beaming at her like a proud mother hen. "Sorry for keeping you then, Aki, if you've got plans then go ahead and get dressed!"

What even is his stupid scheme here? The last fucking thing she wants to do is be somewhere alone with Goro fucking Akechi! There's got to be a way out, some escape route that her third eye just isn't seeing yet.

She looks up at Ren, pitiful yet hopeful. "I mean, if you want to come with us Ren, that would be cool."

She can see Akechi's expression sour the slightest bit out of the corner of her eye. _Excellent._   Checkmate motherfucker, there's no way that Ren can pass this up. All he needs to do is say yes, please say yes, _please say yes_ — 

"Nah it's okay," he says, _treasonous!_ "I don't want to get in the way if you guys wanted to hang out. Besides, if you’re getting along better I should let you work it out on your own. You don't want me making all your friends for you, right?"

She smiles, maybe a bit faker (a lot faker) than she wants. "Are you sure?" she tries not to plead. "If you're off tonight you might be bored, it could be fun with the three of us."

He shakes his head and her world crumbles. "I'm good. Futaba wanted me to go get some figure accessory she forgot the other night anyways, so it  works out. I'll let you guys have fun."

"Cool..." she drawls, ultimately defeated. She tries to ignore the fact that she can see Akechi smiling again to her side, like he's won, like victory.

"No need to rush, Kurusu-san. I'll wait as long as you need." Akechi assures.

_working patiently with her, coffee on her tongue as he waits for her to calm down, before following her upstairs and touching her everywhere and everywhere and—_

"I'll be back in a few minutes." she says hurriedly, before bolting away from their polite conversation over their blossoming friendship.

She's all but worked herself into a froth by the time she's reached the top of the stairs, hands twisting into the sleeves of her sweater. Fuck, what the fuck is he on about, what the fuck sort of thing does he have planned?? She can't leave him down there alone with Ren for too long, especially not now, not when she has no clue what he’s thinking.

A shirt of Ren's and a pair of leggings and a quick yank of her brush through her hair later, she eases back down the steps, hoping beyond hope that he's vanished, that he's decided to go do whatever dumb fucking detectives have to do with their time.

Of course not, though. Of course he's still sitting at the bar, smiling into his cup of coffee as Ren leans over and— oh for fuck's sake he's flirting isn't he— 

"Are you ready?" she asks, a little more clipped and cold than she intends, not as much as she wants to be. "You were the one with the plan, after all."

"Have a good time, Aki~!" Ren blows her a kiss from behind the bar, and winks at Akechi. "You too, Goro-kun. You take good care of my sister, alright?"

"Only the best," Akechi says, vapid and empty and smiling. He puts his hand on her elbow. It's all she can do not to yank it away.

They get down the alley and maybe about four steps down the road before she loses her battle with her self-control and pulls herself out of his grasp, surrounding herself with the comfort of a corner between two buildings nearby. He just watches her as he does it, largely unphased.

"Are you going to tell me what the fuck you're up to or do I have to play guessing games with you?" she demands, crossing her arms in front of her. "If it's the second one I'm going home."

He smiles, "Relax, Kurusu, no reason to do something like that. Besides, I'm sure that would confuse Amamiya, wouldn't it? You've only just left."

She snarls at him. This damn cocky fucker. He knows exactly what he's fucking doing, turning her own brother against her with the promise of some stupid friendship that is not and never, _ever_ will happen between them.

There's more to this, there's got to be. Goro Akechi does not just make casual plans with people in his "oh so busy" schedule (she would know; Ren's tried more times than she can count, to her disgust).

"I want you to fucking talk," she spits, her index finger jammed up towards him. She wishes she was in the Metaverse. She wishes she had her dagger and that she could press it against the thin part of his throat. It'd sure make him a lot less full of himself.

It would also probably get her arrested, but that's about as far from her concern as it could be right now.

He fucking smiles at her, smiles like there’s nothing strange about this at all, smiles like the cameras are rolling for all to see. Maybe they are in a way. There's plenty of people walking by, but fortunately for her peace of mind tiny Akira Kurusu causing a stir on any given afternoon isn't really something off for this particular corner of Yongen. Legacies are a fickle thing, but she thinks for today she can live with this one.

"Is it really so odd to want to offer an evening out?" he asks, smooth as rancid butter left out to sit on the curb for months. "You're at home minding yourself quite a lot whenever I stop by, I just thought maybe for once it would be nice for you to have a night out with some company."

She can’t stop the sneer that creases her face, and doesn’t even think to try. “And why do you think I’d want _you_ for company?”

He shrugs, "No reason in particular, but it seems I do have you for the evening now regardless." He takes his phone out of his pocket, glancing at it for a moment before putting it right back. She's never prayed so hard in her life that someone spending time with her would discover something came up.

He doesn't, of course, and she can tell even before he says, "And luckily I cleared my schedule for the evening to ensure that."

Great, awesome, wonderful, _cooooooooooool_. This is actually her hell. She can't go home now; he's definitely not going anywhere. She’s trapped. Sure, she could run off and hide, speed down into the subway and dart into a train on some line she's never seen before. Maybe she could run away, start a new life, live on a farm and start up a multi million yen coffee bean empire. It could be great.

He would tell Ren before she got even two steps into that plan, something she's certain they both know. She has no choice.

Akira huffs, pulling her arms tighter into her chest while she kicks a piece of loose gravel resting at her foot. "What stupid shit did you want to do so bad that you just _had_ to drag me along to it?" she asks, low and bitter and defeated.

"Perhaps dinner, to start?" he suggests.

So they go to dinner.

He's so kind, so magnanimous, that he lets her choose where to go; of course she chooses Big Bang. There's literally nowhere she can think of where he'd look more out of place, no food that she can think of that would be harder to eat with those fucking gloves on. She's not feeling up to taking the challenge anymore (fucking _thanks_ , Akechi) but that doesn't mean she can't go for her usual— the triple-patty gravity burger, extra lettuce and onions, no mayo, and a large order of fries.

With the way her stomach is twisting, she'll be lucky to finish half of it. But she's not the one paying for it, so Akira doesn't give a single fuck.

Three minutes and a decent chunk into her burger later, she realizes Akechi is staring at her like a bug smashed onto a windshield. "What?" she says with her mouth full, crankily. "What're you lookin’ at?"

"Are you some sort of vacuum hybrid?" he asks, what looks like genuine disgust crossing his face for a moment.

She shrugs, swiping her fries through the puddle of ketchup at the corner of her tray. "Eat your hamburger, _Akechi._ "

It's easy to hide her smile behind the bulk of her burger as Akechi looks down distastefully at his sad little single-patty weenie burger junior. "I can see the grease from here," he says faintly. "You eat this sort of thing on the regular?"

She shrugs. "I go through a lot of calories." 

"Mmm." He clearly thinks about picking the burger up, but folds his hands into his lap instead. "I imagine you're aware that my intentions aren't entirely altruistic."

"I imagine that your head is so big you can't fit through doorways," Akira mumbles.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

He groans. Akira feels a flash of vindictive glee that she doesn’t bother to stifle. "As fun as it is watching you scarf down what I can only imagine will lead to a heart attack in the coming hours, I wanted to discuss something with you this evening."

"You always have something you wanna 'discuss', don't you?"

He smiles, immediately putting her back on edge. "I think working through thoughts and problems is a valuable skill, one that perhaps you should think of honing yourself." She rolls her eyes. He ignores her. "But we can get to that subject in a bit. How was your day today?"

She stops eating and stares at him. He doesn't seem the least bit off put by it. "Why the hell would you ask me something like that?” she asks, bewildered. “What do you care?"

"I'm just trying to hear about if your day was well, is all. There doesn't have to be any more implication to it, Kurusu."

He flashes that TV smile at her. She's going to smash his face into a fucking wall.

"Was fine," she grits out, stuffing more burger in her face.

"Did you do anything interesting today?” he continues, pressing what he must see as an advantage and what Akira sees as a conversational dead end. “You certainly were out for a while after school, I was surprised to see you weren't home with Ren when I arrived."

What the fuck does he _want_ , her whole goddamn life story? She looks straight into the food in her hands, her burger abruptly less appealing. Ketchup pools at the bottom edge like blood. She dabs it onto the paper tray and watches it cling. "Went to the store, went to the gym, took a bath, went home. Not anything crazy." She feels like she's getting interrogated; if he really wanted to fuck around and play twenty questions instead of getting to the goddamn point she could have just stayed home.

He looks like he's about to ask her another stupid fucking question when she hears what sounds like two or three shrill, girly voices yelling something with his name tacked onto it. She doesn't look up, but she can tell that his attention has left her, and she doesn't know if she should be relieved or irritated out of her fucking mind. She's arguably both.

This is _fucking_ stupid. Not just being swarmed by his legion of shitty fans, but also just the conversation in general, the situation in general. He's playing games with her like he does with everyone. He's trying to get her mind off the fact that he wants something with this stupid shit, so he can bring up what he actually wants later to try and trick her into it.

Joke’s on him, though; she’s immune. She knows that song and dance. He used it on her yesterday.

(It fucking _worked._ )

She refuses to let him stress her out this time; she’s done with his bullshit.

The  girls have swarmed his side of the table by now. All Akira can hear is a mishmash of eager voices undercut by Akechi’s deeper tenor. Even with all of her attention on her food, the whole situation makes her feel sick.

She lasts about twenty seconds until she can't take it anymore.

She shoves herself up from the table without a word, the tray in front of her scraping noisily, pointedly across it as she turns and marches away from him. She can hear two of the girls behind her in the sudden quiet making hushed, judgemental whispers over her departure. She doesn't give a shit. She couldn't give half of one even if she wanted to.

The last goddamn thing she's going to let this stupid asshole do is drag her out here and waste her fucking time.

She gets nearly a quarter of the way back to the station when she feels someone grab her arm.

"Kuru—"

It takes every single ounce of her minimal self-control not to go for the knife she always keeps in her pocket. Instead she just yanks her arm back, whirling on him. "Get your hands off me, jackass!"

He looks taken aback, _he should be_ ,  but has the nerve to speak to her anyways. "Where are you going?"

"Home." she spits, harsh and final. "I'm fucking done."

"But I haven't even gotten to—"

"That's your own fucking fault, not mine. _You're_ the dumbass who decided to keep dancing around whatever stupid shit you want to talk about so goddamn bad. Time's up. Bye."

The look he gives her is a delicious mix of angry and confused. "Did I do something wrong? Kurusu, you realize if you have an issue you can just talk about it like an adult instead of—"

"I don't care!" she says, barely under a shout. "I am _not_ interested in becoming part of your stupid fucking instagram brothel. If you wanna yank some girl around and add to your follower count, I couldn't fucking care _less_ , but I'm not about to do it for you."

He glares, "Kurusu—”

“Kurusu,” she mocks back, her voice high and whiny.

“ —what are you even going on about? If you haven't noticed, you're making a bit of a scene..." he whispers through his teeth.

Shit. Lo and behold, there's about ten people side-eyeing the two of them. She turns right back around to head towards the station again without another word— but he grabs her arm, all but throwing her into a small alley space between two buildings.

She can just barely see Main Street from where she stands, shining around the outline of the blockade that is Goro fucking Akechi. Her hand hits her pocket, the weight of her blade a cool, comfortable outline even through her sweater.

Akira glares up at him. “ _Move_.”

He shakes his head. “You’re being ridiculous. If you would just listen to me for one second I could—”

“You could _what?_ What are you trying to do here? What the hell do you want from me!”

He huffs out a sigh, fingers going to the bridge of his nose. Good, she hopes he’s getting sick of this. She _wants_ him to walk away and leave her the hell alone! The sooner she never has to talk to or even look at him again the better.

And then he pulls back, looking her so pointedly in the eye that it shifts her from offensive to defensive.

“I was wanting to ask you something in regard to our… _activities_ , from the past few nights.”

Oh. Oh _no_.

She fucking _knew it_. She didn’t want to think about it or admit it, but all along she fucking knew. There could have been a million possible reasons for him to want to get her alone like his, but this one is the worst by far.

She would have taken him finding out she’s a Phantom Thief over this.

She wishes she was better at keeping a poker face, because it’s obvious that he can see the arithmetic that ends with her kicking him in the balls and sprinting away floating over her head. He makes himself into a more prominent barricade. “Kurusu, if you’d please let me just—”

“ _No._ ” she interrupts. “No no no _no_ , absolutely fucking not. There is _nothing_ , nothing to discuss, nothing to ask about, fucking _nothing_. We’re done here, get out of my way.”

There’s a glare in his eyes. “So you’re just going to pretend that this never happened.”

“What was your first clue, _detective?_ I don’t know what the fuck you thought you’d get out of talking to me about this shit, but the answer is _absolutely not_ . There is _no chance_ of your hands going anywhere near me _ever_ again. I don’t want to talk about this anymore, ever, we’re done. Don’t come near me, don’t come near Ren, leave us alone and **_never talk to me again._ **”

She shoves her way past him this time. Nothing he could say would ever change her mind— 

“It’s not just going to go away that easily, Kurusu.”

Or well, _that_ at least makes her stop for a second.

“What the hell do you mean by that?” she hisses, balling her fists in utter rage. Her heartrate kicks up to eleven, scenarios of whatever he’s about to bullshit next flicking through her mind one after another at the speed of light.

He shifts behind her. She still doesn’t look at him.

“Amamiya and I are still friends you know,” he says. “I’m not going to just disappear because something happened between us. I’ll be back in the cafe.  You and I will undoubtedly see one another again, and this is either going to continue to be a dreadful sore spot for you that keeps getting irritated every time we’re in proximity of one another, or we can work through it.”

Fuck, damn him. _Damn him_ for knowing that and having an upper hand. Of _course_ she can’t cut him out that easily; if she tried Ren would start getting suspicious, he’d ask questions, and like hell is she even remotely willing to spill any detail about this… _incident._

And Akechi’s seen enough of her to know that this is going to keep gnawing at her until she’s nothing but chewed up pieces at the bottom of her personal hamster cage.

“There’s nothing to _work through_. It was a mistake. It was one I don’t want to make again, and I’m not stupid enough to do it again, no matter how much you think I am.”

“I never thought that you were stupid,” he counters. It sounds like a lie, but when the hell did she ever care what Goro Akechi thought of her? “But avoidant, _that_ I could certainly label you. I think that you’re denying yourself a conversation that you’re more interested in having than you’re letting on.”

“What the fuck makes you think that?” 

He makes a short humming noise, almost like a laugh. “You’re not stupid, you knew why I was asking you out tonight.”

“And?” she asks. “What’s your point?”

“If you really didn’t want to discuss this, why did you say yes?”

Akira freezes.

A million excuses fly through her mind. She has plenty, valid ones at that. 

He _made her_. 

He set up this scenario so perfectly that if she’d said no in front of Ren she’d end up looking like a huge jackass and disappoint him.

But on the other hand, they both know that she could have backed out of this at any point of time, even when he’d first brought it up. 

If she _really_ didn’t want to, deep down inside herself she has to admit that she would have said no and called it a day before running back upstairs and shoving herself so deeply into her covers she’d never see the light of day again. She wouldn’t have cared if Ren was confused. She wouldn’t have cared about anything except Akechi leaving and never coming back.

But she didn’t say no.

In fact, as much as she’s said she wants to leave, she’s still standing here in a dark alley, alone with Goro _fucking_ Akechi.

He ends up being the one to break the awkward, icy silence. “It’s odd for me too, you know,” he says, saccharine aspartame in his voice; she’s not buying it. “I’ve never done anything of this sort either. It’s never been something I’ve been all that interested in, but now that it’s been presented to me I’ve become more curious over this, um, _situation,_ I suppose, for lack of a better term.”

She snorts. “Shit, don’t tell me— the _mystical_ second coming of the detective prince, Goro Akechi himself, was a virgin this _whole time?_ Wow, _definitely_ could’ve fooled me.”

She can practically feel the eye roll. “Ah yes, as I recall your well of experience certainly runneth over, but that’s far beside my point. What I was trying to get at here though is that, well, I woke up this morning feeling a lot less stressed than I usually do, and I was curious as to what the correlation of that might be.”

She blinks.

“I was wondering if perhaps maybe you felt similarly, in that sense.”

...so it was like that for him too, huh?

She hasn’t wanted to think too hard about that. She woke up feeling good, sure, better than she has in a long time, focused all day and on top of her shit, and it was... nice. She’s not used to that; she’s really never been used to that, but _especially_ not since she moved here to Tokyo against her will. It’d probably be difficult for just about anyone to stay on top of their game under her circumstances.

It’s not certain, but he’s probably onto something. What they did was awful, _awful_ , something that makes her want to peel out of her skin. Regardless, it _did_ happen, and the aftermath of the experience has evidence on both sides.

It wasn’t entirely negative. 

Still. “That's none of your business,” she says, because it isn’t. The last thing she needs him thinking is that he’s unlocked some special key to get her to chill the fuck out. She will _never_ accept someone like him having any sort of power over her ever. She would rather die.

He takes it with another affirming hum. “Of course.”

The terse, awkward silence grows between them again. Akira fucking _hates this_. This was never supposed to happen. She never should have thrown down the challenge in the first place and she’s paying for it now more than ever. She just wants to go home, lay down, and die. Put her out of her misery before she can even think about this conversation again.

He doesn’t move behind her, or at least if he does she can’t hear it, but at this point she’s so tense and on edge she’s pretty sure she could hear the footsteps of a mouse. Even without being able to see his body language she can tell he’s not sure where he’s going with this, or if he _should_ keep going at least, and she wishes he would get the hint that the answer is definitely no.

“So is that it, then? Are we finished here?” she asks impatiently. It’s getting colder outside; she can feel goosebumps prickling all over her skin, and she can’t decide if it’s the chill or her adrenaline going haywire.

She wouldn’t put it past both.

“Well…” he starts, then stops again. God, she’s getting really sick and tired of him beating around the goddamn bush.

“Listen, if you want to fucking say something then you better do it _now_ because I’m so fucking done with this—”

“I’d be interested to see if there actually is a correlation to my theory,” he interjects.

She snarls, turning on her heel and shooting daggers into him with her stare. “Stop dancing around it and just say what you fucking _want_!”

He stares back at her for a second, and then pulls his shoulders back in a way that makes him look taller, almost intimidating.

“I want to try it again.”

She was expecting it, but it still drops into her stomach like a bomb’s gone off.

This can’t be happening. This is the worst timeline. There is no way Goro _fucking_ Akechi just told her that he wants to do sexual things with her, _to_ her, again. _Again_.

She digs her nails deep into her palm like it’ll wake her. Even when she blinks his face is still looking down at her, waiting.

Not a nightmare, but she’s definitely living in one.

This should be the end of the conversation. He’s told her before that he’s not going to force her to do anything, and damn right he isn’t. She could walk away right now. She could end this entire thing and just let them go on living their lives with this god-awful thing hanging between them that she’ll never be able to get rid of. She could ignore it, as much as she could ignore a constant thorn in her side, digging in and reminding her of its presence every time she moves.

But the really, _really_ shitty thing is that, despite everything, she’s curious now too. 

He’s not wrong about the fact that this changed something for them. Not necessarily _between_ them (she’s going to ignore that as long as she can, thanks), but it did have a lasting effect. Her mood was better, her stress levels were low, and she had the best sleep she’s had in an unimaginably long time. Imagine what life would be like if she could always be like that.

Think how much things would change.

She can see Ren in her mind’s eye, looking on at her proudly because of how much better she’s doing in school, how much more she’s able to focus when they’re working through Phantom Thief business. School is unavoidable, and with the success of Okumura’s change of heart looming, there’s sure to be more for them to do on the Metaverse side of things. She could be better in so many ways.

And all it would cost is giving and receiving an orgasm from her least favorite person on the entire planet. _Eugh_.

The thought is almost not even worth entertaining.

_Almost._

She bites her lip hard enough that she can taste blood, clenching and unclenching her hands in a repetitive and distracting fashion. 

She ignores the bile that lurches up her throat as if to drown the words about to come out of her mouth.

“What did you have in mind?” 

His eyes light up, immediately avaricious. He almost instantly covers it up with his usual mask, though not quick enough for her to do more than force her rising gorge down further. “Well, if you really are interested, I’d be more than happy to offer my apartment as a means to—”

“No.” She interrupts him before he gets farther than that, flat and loud and overriding him immediately.

He blinks, mouth forming into a scowl. “There’s no reason to be so opposed. I live by myself, there’d be no reason to fear being interrupted, and I’m not going to—”

“It’s not going to happen, just drop it,” she snaps. He can act like he’s a perfect wonderful host all he wants, but she’d rather drink a cup of acid he handed her right in front of Ren than put herself in a position where she has to be _that_ vulnerable. If he wants to put himself out of his comfort zone, what the hell ever, but she’s not going to sacrifice hers any more than she already has.

He got her to _consider_ this idea, he better not push his goddamn luck.

“Then do you have a proposal for what we should do? It’s getting a bit late though, I’ve a feeling Amamiya is going to be back soon if that was your idea, and trying something in public wouldn’t be ideal.”

“Wait, what, excuse me,” she interrupts his train of thought,  “you want to do this _now?_ ” 

He shrugs with a half smile. “No time like the present. I didn’t come to you the day after with the thought that I’d like to give this a hiatus and come back to it next week.”

“Don’t be an asshole. Oh wait, sorry, I know that’s hard for you.” He rolls his eyes and she almost, _almost_ smirks. “You’re really bold, propositioning a girl like this. Never really took you for the desperate pleading type, but I guess it makes sense.”

He lets out an annoyed breath through his nose, and she counts it as a victory. “I’m not about to dance around the subject all night, Kurusu.” Funny he says that now, considering that’s all he’s been doing the past hour or so. “If it’s really _that_ much of an issue for you, we can drop it. Making excuses to avoid it for this reason or that reason aren’t going to push anything along, you’re more than welcome to admit that you can’t handle it.”

Oh fucking no, he did _not_ just say that.

“How about _fuck you?_ ” she snaps. “It’s not about being able to handle shit or not, it’s about the fact that I don’t want to go to your gross ass apartment in some area that I don’t know at this time of day. Do you have even a _shred_ of common sense in that over-polished head of yours?”

He shrugs again, his expression turning almost haughty. “Certainly sounds like more excuses.”

She’s ready to boil over.

“You want to do this so bad? Fucking _fine_.” She whips out her phone. He peers over her curiously but she immediately turns her body to conceal her screen.

 

 **> >from: two hissing cats stacked on top of a box**  
hey when are you gonna be home

 **> >from: an idiot in a trenchcoat** **  
** kinda late, the figure futaba wanted is on backorder or something and we’ve been trying to sort it out because she pre-ordered it forever ago. wouldn’t be surprised if it’s another hour or two

 **> >from: two hissing cats stacked on top of a box**  
yikes

 **> >from: an idiot in a trenchcoat**  
yeah.. why do you ask though? need something?

 **> >from: two hissing cats stacked on top of a box**  
can't a girl wanna know when her favorite twin is gonna be home? i miss you :(

 **> >from: an idiot in a trenchcoat**  
aww miss you too aki. did you have a good time with goro?

 

That question makes her want to vomit, especially with Akechi’s eyes leering over her like they are. She pushes onward anyways.

 

 **> >from: two hissing cats stacked on top of a box** ****  
yeah, was fine  
m ready to go to bed tho  
dont be surprised if i’m asleep by the time you get back

 **> >from: an idiot in a trenchcoat** **  
** that’s fine! i'll text you when i'm on my way back though just incase, love you! <333

 **> >from: two hissing cats stacked on top of a box**  
gross  
  
**> >from: an idiot in a trenchcoat** ****  
youre gross  
  
**> >from: two hissing cats stacked on top of a box** ****  
your face is gross  
  
**> >from: an idiot in a trenchcoat** ****  
we have the same face akichan  
  
**> >from: two hissing cats stacked on top of a box** **  
** yeah but yours is gross

 

Behind her, Akechi clears his throat, and reflexively she clicks off her phone, ignoring his curious look.

Ren isn’t going to be back for a while. It’s past eight, which means Leblanc is long since closed. She has a window.

Fuck, what the fuck is she doing…? It’s now or never, isn’t it?

“You have an hour,” she says, the words falling to the ground like lead. “If you waste it like you did earlier you’re going to fucking regret it.” 

He looks at her like he’s puzzled for a moment, but like waves lapping on the shore the realization of her meaning washes over him.

“Very well,” he says, more like an exhale than a simple affirmation. He doesn’t say anything else, just moves to the side and gestures his hand forward to the mouth of the alleyway they’re standing in, a silent motion of “lead the way”.

She does, despite everything in her screaming at her not to. And of course, he follows.

This doesn’t have to be anything more than just an experiment. She can walk away from this any time she wants and _will_ , probably after this last time, for absolute certain.

That’s what she tells herself as she crosses both arms over her chest, fingers digging into the sleeves of her shirt to hide the tremble in her fingers as Akechi spreads her apart again, dips into her most secret of places and wrenches quiet, unwilling sounds from her depths with slick-gloved fingers, until she twists, until she shakes, until she comes with a whimper desperately locked behind her clenched teeth.

That’s what she tells herself as she wraps her hand around his shaft, already leaking, flushed and slick and grotesque and alien, stroking him until he spills sticky ropes and globs over her fingers, hot and disgusting.

That’s what she tells herself.

She can walk away at any time.

She can walk away.

_She can walk away._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to follow us on Twitter, [at @caanticle](https://twitter.com/caanticle) and [@musicaldefiance,](https://twitter.com/MusicalDefiance?s=17) or at our respective nsfws, [@cantiafterdark](https://twitter.com/cantiafterdark) and [@musicaldeviance](https://twitter.com/musicaldeviance)


End file.
